


The Yellow Wood

by Ardatli



Series: Two Roads 'verse [1]
Category: Queer as Folk (US), Shelter (2007)
Genre: I'm a B/J and S/Z shipper, Justin/OMC (implied, Justin/trick (but what else is new?), M/M, Post-Movie, Reunion Fic, and isn't that just the worst spoiler ever?, past-tense), possible angst, post-513, you're going to have to trust me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-07 18:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 53,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ardatli/pseuds/Ardatli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six years after his move to New York, seven years after <i>Rage</i>, Justin Taylor is back in LA, this time as an Artist in Residence at the CalArts School of Art. </p><p>Zach is a senior student and a gifted painter in his own right, staring down the barrel at graduation, job-hunting and all the uncertainties (again) of adulthood.  </p><p>Four months will change five lives forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost, I need to thank my betas [roane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/roane) and [moonbrightnights](http://moonbrightnites.livejournal.com/). They're keeping me honest, keeping me writing, and making me better by the day (I hope!). All errors are mine, not theirs. 
> 
> I don't think too much knowledge of either Queer as Folk or Shelter is necessary in order to follow the story, but it's always worth checking out the cast lists and basic plot outlines: [Queer As Folk on Wikipedia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Queer_as_Folk_%282000_TV_series%29) and [Shelter on Wikipedia.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shelter_%282007_film%29)
> 
> This work is a WIP, but is fully planned out, and currently looks like it'll be ten parts. That may vary up or down one or two, but not more than that.

 

_Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,  
And sorry I could not travel both  
And be one traveler, long I stood  
And looked down one as far as I could  
To where it bent in the undergrowth_

\-- The Yellow Wood, Robert Frost.

**Prelude:**

 

Justin-fucking-Taylor was quickly becoming one of Shaun's worst nightmares.

It hadn't started out that way, of course. Shaun thought things had been going well. That should have been his first hint. If your protagonists begin the story at the top of the world, there’s only one place for them to go, dramatically speaking: down. That’s standard, storytelling 101. Your happy endings, they belong to the guys who start at the bottom and work their way up; that’s your heroes’ journey. 

The trouble comes when you think you’re already into your happy ending, that you ended on the upswing of the wheel of fortune (the medieval concept, not the game show). But then it turns out that your story’s only just begun. By this point, Zach well into his fourth year at CalArts, Cody pretty much _theirs_ , their impromptu little family settled into an easy routine, Shaun had figured that they were long past 'Once Upon a Time,' and were well along their way through 'Happily Ever After.'

They had their moments, of course; what family doesn't? The occasional phone call from Zach's wayward sister Jeanne was always going to send Cody, her nine year old son, into a tailspin. But his uncles had learned to expect that. And Shaun's writing career had its ups and downs like any industry, but he'd sold a couple of scripts, had a half-decent day job triaging bad novels, and that kept them in beer and burgers easily enough.

So when Zach first got the news that he was one of the senior students chosen to work directly with the new artist-in-residence the spring semester of his senior year, it had seemed like reason to celebrate.

Until _he_ showed up.

 

**Chapter One:**

 

The light was different here. That was the first thing Justin noticed every time he stepped out of LAX and onto the curb. He supposed it was something of a cliché, the artist thinking of everything in terms of light and technique and medium, but what other lens was more appropriate? LA was golden in the sunshine, the whole air suffused with a kind of heat that lingered even when the wind itself held a bit of chill. It burned into the eye so that everything moved differently, the shadows sharper, so different from the greys-blues-charcoals-blacks of Pittsburgh and New York. He breathed it in, this hot, bright air, and expelled the last of the east coast from his lungs. Last of it for a couple of months, anyway.

The last time he’d been here had been two days for the interview, the time before that a week, purely for vacation, his first in fuck knew how many years. The time before that, the failed Rage project. Now he was here to work, again, to teach, and hopefully to learn – another new experience, another thing to add to the progressively-expanding bios that Brenda sent out to the magazines and shows that needed a blurb. He could recite it in his sleep, the ten lines that supposedly encompassed the entirety of his professional life.

 _Justin Taylor, 29, is a painter and graphic artist residing in New York City. Born and raised in Pittsburgh, the PIFA alum began his career working in traditional media before incorporating digital techniques..._ blah, blah, blah. Sound and fury, that ultimately signified nothing, and in five years as his agent, Brenda had yet to convince him otherwise. Such bullshit. His pieces should be enough; wasn’t that the point of art, to communicate something more powerfully than was possible with words?

Each new credit, though, each new line in the bio made it easier to meet people – not just people, but the ones who mattered. And that was another Brenda-ism, one that was becoming more and more a part of his lexicon these days. Because once he got ‘in,’ once he was face to face with the gatekeepers, they generally had a hard time saying no. And when you added a few of those vintage Brian Kinney methods of self-promotion- no, not that. He hadn’t needed to try _that_ since he’d learned his lesson with the Sapp back in the Pitts all those years ago. His ass (among other things) was purely for pleasure these days, not profit. But a bit of confidence-bordering-on-arrogance worked brilliantly, and went hand-in-hand with the aloof sort of persona he’d deliberately adopted over the last couple of years.

‘Justin Taylor, New York prima donna’ was taken a lot more seriously than ‘Sunshine, the Boy Wonder from Pittsburgh’ ever had. It was all about managing expectations. Brian had taught him that, too, in a more oblique kind of way. Justin shook off the memory. How long had it been? More than two years, now.

Four years since one weekend a month had become 'when we can find the time.' Three since Brian had missed 'family Christmas' at Deb's for a business trip, and Justin had had a show, and hadn't been able to make it back for his birthday. Two and a half years since the phone calls had dwindled away to silence, since the last email with vague promises about 'getting together again sometime.' A 'sometime' which, between Brian's life and Justin's life and work travel and shows and meetings that took precedence, never quite materialized.

He’d meant to write back, make solid plans, but one thing had come up, and then another; a show, an airline strike, a few lean months that left him scrambling for commissions just to cover rent. Then one day he’d turned around and a year had passed. Then two. And there had been Nick in the meantime, and Graeme, and then it was far too late to pick up the phone and play catch-up.

And now he was back in LA, already flagging a cab to get him down to CalArts, and ‘Artist in Residence’ had a much better sound to it than ‘Brett Keller’s storyboard monkey.’ It was going to be a good spring.

 

\--

 

“So who is this guy Taylor?”

Zach tipped his head and leaned back in the hard plastic chair to better hear Callie, narrowly missing knocking heads with John who was doing the same thing from the other direction. A brief shoving match ended with the three of them in more or less of a small circle, the legs of the chairs scraping against the classroom’s dingy vinyl floor. “Dunno,” Zach offered up with a half-hearted shrug. “He’s supposed to be some hot-shot painter from the east coast.”

“’Artist in Residence’ grants usually go to old guys,” John said, drumming paint-stained fingernails against his chair arm. “Well-established, respectable, connected to the grant committees- exactly the sort of person who needs the exposure the least.” 

“Better hope not,” Callie grinned, shaking her head to toss her bright blue bangs out of her eyes. Blue this week, anyway. Last week her hair had been pink, the week before that, striped and spotted in a funny kind of tabby-cat pattern. But then the hairdresser girlfriend who did the fancy stuff for her had ditched her for a flannel-wearing bass player, and Callie had gone solid-colour in her own form of protest at the breakup. “Because whoever this guy is, we’re stuck with him for the whole. flippin'. semester.”

“I’m not,” John gloated, “except for workshop. I’m not a teacher’s pet.” He stared pointedly at the other two.

“You’re just jealous,” Callie flicked John’s ear with her finger, doing the same to his other ear when he swatted at her. “Why would he pick a guy into oil portraits to assist on an outdoor installation?”

“It’s not about being a teacher’s pet,” Zach mumbled. He flipped his pen around in his hand and stared at the scribbled-on and gouged surface of the useless half-desk attached to his chair. Linda had loved Bobby forever back in ’77, apparently. He wondered idly how that had turned out. “I used to do a lot of street art, and he asked for students who do large-scale stuff.” There wasn’t much point in trying to justify it, he knew that intellectually, but part of him still – even after four years – felt like he needed to explain why he was even here at the school in the first place, never mind hand-picked for a special project.

“So that explains the former hooligan. Why are _you_ in?” John asked Callie, swatting her hand away once more time.

“That minor in digital media finally came in handy,” she crowed, sticking out her tongue. “Design, baby, design. And can the attitude.”

“Yeah, you’re happy now, but wait until you two have spent your entire term stuck in a twelve-by-twelve studio with Mira-the-superball and some geriatric still-life painter who looks like Alfred Hitchcock and smells like mothballs.”

The door at the front of the room opened and John cut off as the department chair entered, a young man trailing in behind him. The twenty students in the seminar room stopped talking, mostly, and shuffled their chairs around in a cacophony of soft scrapes and bumping sounds until they were facing front. John’s eyebrows went up, Callie let out a long, low whistle that only they could hear, and Zach felt his face flush a little. The new guy – _that_ was Mr. Taylor? – looked like he was Zach’s age, maybe a little older, his blond hair studiously shaggy and long enough to brush against the collar of his snug black button-down shirt. He was fit – _really fit –_ and dressed all in black. Stuff that looked expensive, too. _New York. Right. What else would he possibly wear?_ And he was looking around at the senior class like they were barely worthy of his notice.

Zach shifted lower in his chair as Mr. Taylor scanned the class, and frowned. Taylor's face was totally unreadable, despite being classically gorgeous. Or maybe _because_ of it; the kind of guy who didn’t have to worry about getting everything that he wanted, because people would be falling over themselves to give it to him. No wonder he beat out the old farts who would have been up for this job. And the way he was looking at them - he was all closed-off and remote, something like scorn flickering in his eyes, like he thought he was so much better than the rest of them.

Great. Just great.

“Attention, please,” Moore was saying as he sat down in one of the empty chairs at the front of the room, and Zach pulled his attention away from the New York douchebag to try and focus on what the professor was saying. Moore lived in a state of semi-permanent rumple, and it had become a game to try and guess how long he'd last in a lecture before he had some kind of major or minor wardrobe malfunction. Judging by the precarious hold of the suspenders barely visible beneath his wrinkled tweed sportscoat, today had the potential to be epic.

“It is my honour and privilege to introduce you to the School of Art’s new Artist in Residence, Justin Taylor. Mr. Taylor will be working with us here during the semester, attending the senior workshop with you as well as preparing the new outdoor installation that will be going in the east courtyard. We’re very lucky to have Mr. Taylor here with us for the duration; I expect this will be a wonderful learning experience for everyone.” He nodded to Taylor with a smile, gesturing an invitation for him to speak.

Moore leaned back in, then, and rested his elbows on his knees before relinquishing the floor, and gave his students a conspiratorial grin. “If you want more of a background on Mr. Taylor, by the way, a reliable source has informed me that this month’s _Art Papers_ has a nice little piece.” Taylor rolled his eyes at the mention, still standing, with his hands in his pockets. Whether he was embarrassed at being called out or wanted to look like being written up in an art magazine was nothing special, Zach couldn’t tell. He tried to imagine being at a point in his career where a writeup of any kind wouldn’t send him over the moon, and discovered that he couldn’t picture it at all.

Taylor stayed standing rather than taking his seat, instead moving to stand behind it. He rested on hand on the back of it, a shield between himself and the students. “As Dr. Moore mentioned, I’m Justin Taylor-“ Zach resisted the urge to roll his own eyes in response.Taylor’s voice was a nice tenor, but reserved and cool, especially when contrasted with Dr. Moore’s easy warmth. He wasn’t really looking at any of them, either, just gazing into the middle distance while he spoke, a perfect blond enigma.

 _Are you sure you’re not just jealous?_ Callie’s earlier judgement of John resurfaced in Zach’s mind, but he dismissed it. Jealous? No. _Intimidated_? Definitely. And that was worse.

“And while I do some work in traditional media – mostly large-scale painting – the bulk of my recent work has been mixed-media, with a focus on digital manipulation of original images. I’ve started experimenting with projections, and some of the technology available there. When I submitted my original proposal for the AIR project grant, I wanted to begin with a focus on the campus itself...”

 

\--

 

“That’ll be all for today, everyone,” Moore had taken over again once Taylor had finished his canned speech and fielded a few questions, and he waved the class toward the door with an affable smile. “Zach, Mira, Callie – stay for a few minutes.” 

“Have fu-uun,” John trilled mockingly in Zach and Callie’s general direction as he packed his notes up and flung his scribbled-on canvas messenger bag over his back. “See you two brown-nosers tomorrow.”

“I’d say it, but it would be so trite,” Callie sighed, pulling her sketchbook to her chest and looping her Hello-Kitty backpack over one shoulder.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Zach grumbled, ignoring Callie’s questioning look as they headed up to the front of the room. Mira was already there, her black-framed glasses vanishing into hair almost as black, the caramel colour of her skin warm against the cream of her t-shirt. She flashed a pleased grin at the other two, practically bouncing on her toes in her excitement.

Taylor was already shaking her hand politely, as cool and remote as he had been from the beginning, though there was a hint of a smile on his face as he asked Mira about her classes. Mira was a photographer when she wasn't painting, one of the old-school types who spent half her time in the red glow of the darkroom and smelled faintly of a mix of acetone and developer. That filled out the mixed-media portion of Taylor's big proposal, Zach assumed, and waited for an introduction.

Callie got there first and received the same treatment as Mira – a little small talk, a handshake, and then it was his turn. Zach extended his hand to Taylor, and shook his with a firm grip. He’d expected – what? Something softer? But Taylor’s hand was broad and strong, and the brief contact left Zach with the lingering impression of work calluses marking his skin. And the way Taylor looked at him – almost inquisitively, a searching look, as though hunting for something in Zach’s eyes – no, that didn’t help the intimidation factor in the slightest. Zach pulled his hand back, muttering something inane in response to the greeting; he wasn’t even sure what. Moore interrupted, bringing the group back together to speak to the four of them together. Was that a flash of disappointment on the new teacher’s face as he turned away? What had he expected to see in Zach, that he hadn’t?

“So in addition to the master class and workshop, which Mr. Taylor will be attending as a participant,” Moore filled the students in, though they’d heard this part before, “the three of you will be spending some time every week working with him to prepare the installation. Ten hours per week is the minimum requirement for your honours credit, and Mr. Taylor will have to sign off on those timecards before you turn them in at the end of the semester. Of course, as things progress, you will very likely need to put in more hours – it's all part of the project. The end goal is not a punch clock, but to get the installation ready on time.” There was steel behind his voice as Moore laid down the law. “Mr. Taylor? Any instructions for them?”

“Sure,” Taylor replied, folding his arms in front of him as he started talking. “There are copies of the proposal package waiting for you at the department office; pick them up as soon as you can. Things will change as we go, of course, so don't get too attached to any one idea. It's all part of the process. The first thing I need to do is see the space, and get a feel for how the light changes over the course of the day. Mira, that's where I'm going to need you. We'll get photographs, maybe some video – not just now, but at different times over the next few days. Once I have all that assembled, I’ll decide on the exact layout.”

Callie caught Zach's eye from where she stood just behind Mira, and rolled her eyes a little bit at Zach. 'Bossy, much?' she mouthed, apparently sure that Taylor couldn't see her.

“Sure thing,” Mira smiled wide, and Taylor actually smiled back – the first smile that seemed to be more than just a formality since he’d walked into the class. “My gear's all up in the studio; I can go get it and meet you in the courtyard in, like, ten minutes?”

“Make it fifteen,” Taylor corrected her, glancing at his watch. “Back here, and we'll all go up to the courtyard together.” That order given, he looked around and grabbed his bag from the floor beside him, the rest of them obviously dismissed.

 

\--

 

Moore and Mira split off into opposite directions once they were out in the hallway, and once alone, Justin sagged back a little against the wall and let out a puff of air. He hadn’t been at all sure what to expect when Dr. Moore had shown him into the classroom, but the pack of t-shirt-wearing early-twenty-somethings staring at him with a mix of surprise, boredom and annoyance hadn’t quite been it. He obviously wasn’t what they’d been expecting either, judging by some of the looks and the heads leaning together to whisper comments that he’d caught out of the corner of his eye. It was like PIFA all over again, except with more flip-flops. And these kids had come a whole lot further in their formal educations than he’d ever managed with his.

Justin straightened his back and put the ‘don’t give a fuck’ face back on, to cover the irrational attack of nerves that threatened now that his presentation was over. He hadn’t been that out-of-place kid in years, and he couldn’t afford to think like that now. He'd had shows, even one that was entirely his, that had all but sold out. He’d taken classes in New York, even run workshops before. Despite the hand that still seized up on him sometimes, despite his father’s predictions of failure, he was doing just fine. So what that he didn’t have a degree? He’d earned this spot on the merits of his work. Fuck ‘em.

The class had gone well, once he'd gotten past his initial bout of nerves. Did Ben have the urge to puke the first time he got up in front of a class, or was it just him? He was reasonably certain that he'd seen a few sparks of interest in some of them during his talk, more so when Moore had opened the floor for questions and they'd started grilling him about the East Coast art scene. He'd found that topic easier than speaking about design concepts in front of almost two dozen pairs of judging eyes, even though it had meant discussing his personal experiences more than he was entirely comfortable with. Now all that was left was gauging the space, then he’d have a chance – and fuck, it was going to feel good, after getting up at the ass-crack of dawn and travelling all day – to collapse for a couple of hours. At least.

Mira; she seemed sweet. Something about the puppy-like enthusiasm in her smile reminded him a little bit of Daphne, and was totally at odds with her pseudo-hipster black and white style. Callie – he repeated her name in his mind a few times to make sure it stuck – had the punk thing going on and the detached smile to go along with it.

And then there was Zach, the only student in the list of applications he’d looked over whose work came close to what Justin had been looking for, the one he’d been the most interested in meeting. The photographs included with the emailed portfolios didn’t come close to showing what he was capable of, if Moore was to be believed, and Justin had hoped – what? To find a like mind? Some kind of sign of a kindred spirit, the heavens opening up and choirs of angels singing? A _protégé,_ for fuck’s sake? It had been a half-formed notion, now knocked down by the discovery that Zach was the one of the three that Justin couldn’t get a read on at all.  

Voices were coming closer to the door at Justin’s back, and he looked around to figure out where he was going, before Zach and Callie could open it and catch him standing there and staring off into space. First order of business, find somewhere to smoke where he wouldn’t get his ass handed to him by the campus cops. There was an open door a few steps down the hallway and Justin made his way towards that, his bag bumping gently against his hip.

 

\--

 

Zach watched Taylor leave, then shook his head as the door closed behind Moore and Mira as well. He scrubbed at the back of his neck with one hand, feeling the tight tension seated in the muscles there. He wasn't sure exactly what he'd been expecting, but something more than a handshake and a set of marching orders, at least. Maybe a 'so good to meet you,' or 'I like what I've seen of your work,' or... something to suggest that they weren’t three random warm bodies.

“He may not smell anything like mothballs, but I don’t know how much fun this is going to be,” Callie snorted, confirming Zach's own suspicions. “He better be as good as Moore thinks he is, or this is going to be one hell of a semester.” She shot finger-guns at Zach and grinned as they headed for the door. “So what's your call? Gay or straight?”

“Cal-” Zach objected, squirming a little. Almost four years with Shaun didn't mean he was an expert on whatever all the rest of it was supposed to mean. “Come on. That's not exactly any of our business.”

“Of course not,” she replied gleefully. “That's why it's fun. You know my gaydar's shit for men; so help me out. Is he going to hit on Mira, or you?”

Zach sighed and pushed open the heavy door, holding it for Callie as she passed him into the hall. She wasn't going to let up until he gave an answer, he realized with a familiar sinking feeling, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his baggy jeans, looked up at the ceiling for a minute before making a guess. _The warmth of his hand in Zach’s; something about the set of his jaw, the curl of his lip; the way his shirt was cut to fall across his shoulders and chest; a hint of some kind of spicy cologne that faded into nothingness even as he’d noticed it_ – “Gay,” he said with a small grimace at himself for playing along. “Aren't all the New York artists?” he turned it into a joke to assuage the vague rush of guilt, grinning at her. 

Callie barked a laugh and bumped him with her shoulder. “Whatever. As soon as you find out, you better let me know. Anyway! I'm going to go by the office and pick up those folders – want me to grab yours too?”

“Sure,” Zach shrugged. “I'll see you back here in fifteen.”

 

\--

 

Fifteen minutes and a phone call home to Shaun later, and no-one else was back at the classroom yet. Zach tossed his bag into a corner, let the door swing closed behind him, and headed back out to find them. It was quiet in this corner of campus this time of day, everyone in classes or working in the studio spaces on the other side of the quad. A voice outside in the courtyard echoed softly in the corridor and Zach headed toward it, stepping out into the sun and almost into view before he realized that Mr. Taylor was talking on the phone rather than to one of his classmates.

Taylor was leaning against the stone wall of the building in the tiny designated smoking area, a cell phone stuck to his ear and couple of potted trees mostly shielding Zach from view. "You'd die. It's 'dude' this and 'dude' that and bleach-blond surfer boys everywhere." A cigarette, mostly smoked, rested between Taylor's fingers, and he brought it to his mouth to take a drag as he laughed at something the person on the other end was saying. "You say that, but I know how you feel about tan lines."

Zach stopped moving, meant to turn and go back inside to wait, but some impulse stopped him. Curiosity, maybe, about this new presence in his life, or just nosiness inspired by Callie’s questions. Either way, he stopped and listened longer than he should have.  

“They’re putting me up in the grad students’ residence,” Taylor had gone on to say, bringing the cigarette to his lips again. “It’s nice, for a dorm. I’ve got a suite with a bunch of MFAs. It’s better than having to pony up for an apartment while I’m here; the sublets might be a bit cheaper than back home, but not by much.” A pause, a drag, then, “Five suitemates, yeah.” And another pause, this time punctuated with a laugh. “If only! And I’m pretty sure none of them are fags.”

Zach cringed at the insult, the harsh word seeming to echo off the walls of the courtyard and sink its claws into him. He'd heard the arguments about 'reclamation' and 'dis-empowering the language’; Callie was all over that sort of thing, and it was a recurring argument between some of Shaun's more political friends. But politics was one thing. Hearing it out of a teacher's mouth – and one he wasn't entirely sure _was_ reclaiming anything – was a whole different story.

“I know! It’s an art school, for fuck’s sake; you’d figure there’d be queer cock everywhere. Not that I should be tricking with my roommates, but still. It’s actually worse than PIFA. I think they all went to Hollywood.”

Zach turned and headed back inside, his shoulders hunched and tight and his hands shoved deeply into his pockets, as though he could find some kind of solace or rescue there. How many weeks left in the semester? Too many.

What an _asshole._

 

\--

 

The others had arrived back at the classroom within minutes of Zach's return, and they'd headed out to the site as a pack. Despite Zach's mood, he had to admit that the spot was going to be pretty awesome, the late-afternoon light bathing this section of the campus in liquid gold. Mira had been in seventh heaven, clicking away with her camera at Taylor's micro-managing direction, while Callie and Zach had muttered comments to each other and dutifully sketched the setting. Zach noodled around with a couple of ideas, but slammed his sketchbook shut when Taylor headed their way to tell them it was time to go home.

Zach usually grabbed a cheap soda from the corner store by the campus bus stop, and today was no different. The magazine rack caught his eye, though, and while he normally ignored it – five or ten bucks for a glossy art magazine was a waste of money that could be put to better uses at home – the current issue of _Art Papers_ was there, and he fondled the slick card cover with a mix of curiosity and hesitation.

He wrestled with the expenditure for a moment; why waste a splurge on a magazine just because Taylor supposedly had a bio in it? But then the bus was pulling up and Zach didn't have time to argue with himself anymore. He paid for the soda and magazine and ran for the door, making the bus just before it pulled away. Annoyed with himself all over again, Zach rolled up the magazine and jammed it deep into his backpack. He spent the ride home staring out the bus window, lost in thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> re: "Rage": In second season of Queer as Folk, Justin and his friend/'frenemy' Michael developed a superhero comic book by the name of 'Rage', with Justin as artist and Michael as author. In fourth season, a director by the name of Brett Keller (analog to Michael Bay, thematically and stylistically) optioned the comic for a movie, and Justin went to LA for a few months to work on preproduction. The project was eventually canned, but the comic continued.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Justin and Zach Have Words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thank yous to my betas [roane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/roane) and [moonbrightnights](http://moonbrightnites.livejournal.com/). They're keeping me honest, keeping me writing, and making me better by the day (I hope!). All errors are mine, not theirs.

**Chapter 2:**

Zach’s bad mood seemed to have settled in for a lengthy stay, but the gloom had lifted as his bag hit the floor of the apartment and Cody had come running. His nephew was all knees and elbows these days, caught in the middle of another growth spurt. Despite the fact that he was rapidly gaining on Zach in height – Roy, his long-absent dad, had been tall – he still resembled nothing so much as an overly enthusiastic puppy, all limbs and feet and exuberance. Zach flashed back to the subdued kid who had watched the world through huge and wary eyes, as Cody wrapped himself around Zach and tried to climb up on his shoulders, and let the relief of the homecoming carry the rest of his resentment away.

\--

  
The rest of the early evening was the easy autopilot of their routine, leaving Zach little time to brood. He and Cody sat at the round table to try and make some inroads on their homework – the non-studio stuff for Zach, reviews and reading reflections and analytical papers that invariably made him feel dumb; math and spelling and social sciences for Codes – while Shaun made dinner. Bath, stories, fighting over teeth brushing and why chewing gum was totally not the same as flossing, no, not even when it was sugar-free and said so _right on the package,_ and finally Cody tucked into the bed down the hall with the Spiderman sheets.

Zach collapsed on the vaguely ratty green couch that Shaun had owned for god-knows-how-long before they’d moved in together. The matching throw pillows had been a weird kind of housewarming gift from Tori, and he dug one out from under his hip to shove it beneath his head instead. His bag was sitting on the floor where he’d dropped it when they cleared the table for dinner, just out of easy reach, and he grunted as he shuffled down further and tried to loop his foot into the strap and pull it towards himself without actually having to sit up.

Shaun interrupted him, catching Zach by surprise as he landed on the couch butt-first, half on top of Zach, arm up in a fake-out as though he were trying for a bodyslam that he checked at the last possible moment. “S’up, hot stuff? Codes all tucked in?”

Zach made a half-hearted attempt to push Shaun off, giving up after a moment of trying to shift the taller, broader-built man off his legs. He flopped back on the couch instead, grinning up at his boyfriend. Partner. Fiancé. Whateverthefuck. “All tucked in,” he confirmed, “I think he was asleep before I even got to the door. Kid’s wiped out.”

“You’re not looking too lively yourself,” Shaun pointed out, shifting and hauling Zach’s legs up so he could sit on the couch, letting Zach’s legs fall back across his lap once he was resettled. Shaun ran a hand along Zach’s calf, and Zach relaxed a little under the gentle pressure, the denim of his jeans bunching up and relaxing with the movement of Shaun’s palm.

“So who is this guy that’s bugging you?” Shaun asked, tipping his head back to rest against the couch, turning to look at Zach as he spoke. “You sounded stressed on the phone this afternoon.”

“Justin Taylor – he’s the artist they brought in from New York. The one I’m supposed to be helping with the installation. Moore described it as this big chance to get hands-on experience, but so far he’s just got us sitting around with our thumbs up our butts, or doing busy-work.”

_Fags._

_Queer cock._

 “And he’s a _jerk_ ,” Zach added with vehemence. “He’s just another entitled rich-kid painter-“

Jeannie’s words from years ago echoed in Zach’s ear, in his own voice this time, and for a minute he felt guilty. He’d turned himself inside out to be one of them, that first year. Not comfortable in his own skin, he’d only felt safe once he’d run back home in the evenings, paint-splattered and wrung out, his hands smeared with graphite and splotches of ink.

And every time he hauled his carcass in the front door of their apartment at night, wanting nothing more than to curl up and sleep for a month, Cody would launch himself out of the chair and away from his homework to fling his arms around Zach’s neck, dangling there and begging until Zach turned him upside down over his shoulder, and Shaun would come out from the kitchen, drying strong hands that smelled of mango dish soap, to kiss Zach hello. Hello, and welcome home, and lay your burdens down. Then the tension would all melt away and he’d remember why the hell he was doing any of it.

“Another entitled jerk who just wants to use us as slave labour for his own projects,” Zach finished in disgust. “It’s not a ‘creative collaboration,’ it’s just him, being a control freak. He argued with Mira about which of her cameras to use, made her take almost fifty shots all over again. And Callie and I are supposed to be happy getting him coffee and washing his paintbrushes, or whatever.” Zach half-sat up and tried for  his bag again. This time, Shaun took pity on him and grabbed the strap, hauling it over to sit on the floor within Zach’s arm’s reach.

“Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun a little bit? It’s only the first day. Maybe he’s just nervous about being in charge of a bunch of other artists.” Shaun suggested, ever the optimist.

Zach rummaged in his bag for his sketchbook, frowning as his fingers brushed against a slick and unfamiliar object. He frowned, pulling it out, then remembered his impulse buy from the afternoon as the magazine came into view. “No,” Zach made a sour face. “I don’t think so. He’s just a dick.”

“He’s got to have some redeeming qualities, if the school hired him,” Shaun suggested mildly, reaching out for the magazine as Zach fought to get his sketchbook out of his bag, hanging half-off the couch as he did so. “What’s this?”

Guilt flashed across Zach’s face for a second, the price of the magazine eating at him again. Shaun never seemed to care about that sort of thing, though; side effect of never having to worry about money when he was a kid. It wasn’t as reassuring as he’d thought it might be, once upon a time. It just meant that Zach had to do enough worrying for both of them. “Just a magazine I picked up today,” he replied, tone a bit apologetic. He managed to work the spiral binding on his sketchbook free from the bag seam it had caught on, and twisted to get back up onto the couch properly. Shaun grabbed for his hand to pull him up the rest of the way, his grip firm and warm. Zach got his balance and shrugged. “Dr. Moore said there was an article about Taylor in there.”

Shaun rested his arms on Zach’s legs again, and flipped through the magazine. It took him a minute to find the piece, Zach catching glimpses of news blurbs about galleries and what looked like a long interview as the pages flipped past. "Top Thirty Under Thirty," the next headline proclaimed in bold type, and Shaun tipped the magazine, giving Zach a better view.

The article that followed was lengthy, each page spotted with photographs of the subjects in question. The images were obviously intended to be artistic, but instead fell soundly on the other side of pretentious. The puff-piece biographies that accompanied the photos were written in such fawning tones that you'd think each subject was the love child of Shakespeare, Mozart, and Picasso all rolled into one. Asian girl with piano, dark-haired guy with violin and a soul patch, some nondescript brunette with a typewriter, as if anyone actually used those nowadays.

Zach propped himself up on his elbows so that he could read it as well. Shaun rested his free arm along the back of the couch, absently scuffing at Zach’s dark hair as he flipped through the pages. Zach leaned into the touch, relaxing a little into Shaun’s hand. One more flip and there he was, dressed all in black and leaning against a white wall, blond and insouciant and arrogant as fuck. Just like he was in class. “That’s him,” Zach stopped Shaun from continuing, making his ID with a grimace. “See what I mean?”

"Justin Taylor, 29," Shaun read aloud. "Born and raised in Pittsburgh, this computer-age virtuoso has been living in New York City since 2005. He has shown his work in solo exhibitions including at the Porter Gallery in Soho, and the ‘Emerging Artist’ showcase at NYC’s Kincaide Gallery. His recent experiments with large-scale mixed media  have garnered critical acclaim… blah blah... This young man is one the art world should keep watching.”

Shaun raised an eyebrow and made a bit of a face. “He certainly sounds like he’s got it made.” He paused, as though thinking about something, then turned his attention back to Zach. “So what’s really bugging you?” Shaun asked, flattening his hand out against the back of Zach’s head, then dropping it to cup the back of his neck. “You’ve had jerk professors before.”

Zach shrugged in response, not wanting to examine his reactions too closely. “I dunno. It’s different. It’s like – he’s my age, or close to,” he threw that out there, frowning. That wasn’t it either. “And he’s making a real living with art, even though he’s only been pro for five or six years.”

“That’s pretty impressive,” Shaun said, letting the silence hang there. Zach had been hoping that the non-answer would be enough, but that didn’t look like it was going to be the case. He leaned his head back into Shaun’s caress and turned the question over in his mind, poking into it from different angles to figure out his reply.

“In class today, Meg asked about his big break. How he started getting work,” Zach began again, shifting back up to rest his elbow on the back of the couch. He traced patterns on Shaun’s forearm with his fingertips as he thought aloud, squares and lines and triangles that marched in haphazard lines along Shaun’s skin. “A friend of his works for a gallery in Pittsburgh, and it sounds like she made sure some serious big shots saw his pieces. He had the right connections to get noticed, and got a career handed to him, just like that.

And that was achingly familiar. He’d had a version of that argument with Shaun once before, years ago; in his anger he’d thrown around words like ‘entitled,’ looking to wound. And while he didn’t envy Shaun and Gabe their distant, distracted stepfather, it didn’t change the fact that Larry had set Gabe up in exactly the same way. Connections. An edge that Shaun had rejected, and that Zach had never had. He changed the subject away from those dangerous waters.    

“He’s doing a lot of work that’s like my style, mixed media and large-scale, though his stuff’s more classically-based.” _And I’m just a glorified tagger_ ,  Zach thought, not for the first time. And didn’t say it out loud. Also not for the first time. “So if he’s got that niche all lined up-“

“On the East Coast, maybe,” Shaun jumped in, running his hand a little higher and giving Zach’s knee a squeeze. “Even if there were only room for one guy of each style – which there isn’t, by the way, or you’d have classes about ‘the Impressionist’ instead of ‘the Impressionists,’– he’s only here for a couple of months. Then he’s back to the other side of the country and out of your hair.”

He set the magazine down on Zach’s knees, freeing up his right hand, and gave Zach his patented ‘I’m totally being serious right now’ look. “Don’t let this guy intimidate you,” he assured him, running both hands along Zach’s bent legs, up to his thighs and back down. “You’re a scholarship-certified genius, all right? And I’m not just saying that because you’re also the hottest thing in LA.” He grinned wide when Zach scoffed, then sat back, pep talk over, and patted Zach’s knee where it bent over Shaun’s leg. “And if he really freaks you out, remember he’s just some dude from New York, not an art god descending from on high. What’s that public-speaking trick about imagining people in their underwear, so you stop getting stage fright?”

Zach grinned back, his shoulders relaxing and the restless under-skin anxious itch dying down beneath Shaun’s touch. Shaun was good at that, at making everything seem possible, at making all the little shitty stuff seem unimportant. At least while they were talking, anyway. It would all come crashing back in later, but for now it was easy to let Shaun’s easy confidence carry them both along. Zach snagged the magazine and pretended to peruse the picture of Justin more carefully. “Yeah, that helps,” he agreed after a minute, his expression a casual deadpan. “He is pretty hot.”

Shaun blinked, once, then grabbed for the pillow jammed in beside his hip and smacked Zach with it, laughing. “Oh he is, is he? Are pretty blond boys what you’re into, these days?” Zach flung up his hands to block the attack, getting in at Shaun’s sides where he was ticklish. Shaun yelped and renewed his assault, his reach hampered by the way he was tangled in Zach’s legs.

Zach grabbed the pillow away from him and pitched it over the back of the couch, leaving Shaun disarmed. “Dunno, maybe,” he laughed, fisting his hands in Shaun’s t-shirt and using it as leverage to push him up and away, try to tip him off the couch the other way. “You’re getting slow, old man; maybe it’s time I trade in for a younger model.”

He hadn’t expected Shaun’s tongue in his ear as a response, a swift, hot, wet slide that went straight to his dick, made him lose his grip on Shaun’s shirt as he arched his hips up in involuntary response. Shaun grabbed his wrists the moment Zach let go, pinning them up over his head against the couch and planting one of his legs between Zach’s thighs. “Fuck that,” Shaun breathed, grinning wide. “This old man’s still got some moves you haven’t seen, grasshopper.”

“Prove it,” Zach taunted, his breathing picking up pace along with his heartbeat. He moistened his lips reflexively, unable to pull his eyes away from Shaun’s mouth. Shaun’s leg pressed down against him a little more and Zach shifted to give him room, air hissing softly between his teeth as Shaun’s hips locked against his. Two layers of wear-softened denim between them weren’t enough to disguise the heated weight of Shaun’s cock pressing into Zach’s hip, and Zach rocked his hips up against him, angling himself slightly in a reach for contact, friction-

Zach’s wrists were still pinned against the worn green fabric of the couch, and Shaun’s grin could not have gotten any wider. He bit along Zach’s exposed collarbone, ran the flat of his tongue over the bites, wet heat to soothe the momentary sting. Shaun laughed against Zach’s shoulder when Zach rutted up against him, groaning, and ground down again in response.

A faint sound made them both freeze in place, two sets of eyes immediately turning to the archway that opened into the dark hallway that led to the bedrooms. A second passed with no Cody, then two, and Shaun let go of Zach’s wrists and sat up. “Bedroom?” he suggested, bounding to his feet and holding out one hand to help Zach up.

“Bedroom,” Zach groaned, letting Shaun pull him to standing. He grabbed Shaun by the belt buckle and hauled him along, only stopping a couple of times to mash his lips against Shaun’s, stroke their tongues together, slide his hands around to grab his ass, stumbling backwards towards the arch, the dark hall, and the empty bed.

The hall was technically short, but it had never felt quite so long before. Shaun clicked the door shut behind him and flipped the lock. Zach pulled him forward impatiently, pressed his mouth against the rough skin of Shaun’s jawline, breathed in the scent that was so unmistakably _him._ He moved from Shaun’s jaw to his lips, then sucked lightly on his earlobe with familiar urgency. His teeth nipped impatiently at Shaun’s ear, then his neck, then their lips met again and they kissed, kissed and kissed until Zach had to remember to breathe, remember anything else existed other than the feeling of Shaun in his arms, all muscle and hard angles and heat.

“Woah, there,” Shaun put his hands up between them and pushed gently against Zach’s shoulders. Zach frowned, uncertain, then Shaun flashed another wicked grin and pushed him again.

Zach’s knees caught on the edge of the bed and he stumbled back, his arms out to catch himself against the mattress as he landed, sitting. Shaun was advancing on him and he leaned back on his elbows, but Shaun didn’t drop to his knees, or go for Zach’s fly. He advanced instead, pushed one of Zach’s knees aside with his hand and Zach spread his legs a bit more to let Shaun press between them.

He arched up as Shaun leaned down, then crashed his mouth into Shaun’s again, swiped his tongue across Shaun’s lips, drove inside his mouth with his tongue. He licked into him, so hot, tasting of beer and a faint hint of barbeque sauce- Zach let out a yelp of surprise when Shaun circled his wrists with his hands and slid onto the bed to straddle Zach, one knee on either side of his hips.

Shaun pressed down against him, solid and firm, the thick bedspread sinking down under the combined weight of their bodies. Shaun had let his buzz cut grow out ages ago and the ends of his hair tickled Zach’s nose and cheek when he leaned in. He kissed his way down Zach’s jaw to his ear, drew a slick line with his tongue around the cartilage, pressed Zach’s hands up above his head and held them there against the bedspread, immobile.

Zach sucked in breath and turned his wrists experimentally in Shaun’s grip, the calluses on Shaun’s palms rough against the skin on his arms. Zach looped a leg around Shaun’s hip and used that for leverage to rock up into him, then gasped involuntarily at the contact. Shaun pulled back a little at the sound, the spot on Zach’s clavicle where his mouth had been insistently flushing cold with the re-exposure to the air. “You OK with this?” Shaun asked, momentarily hesitant, and wriggled his fingers where they gripped Zach’s wrists, to explain what he meant by ‘this.’  

“Fuck yeah,” Zach managed to get out, his lips feeling bruised and slightly swollen. It was new, different than the easy lovemaking that was their usual stock in trade. But new was good; this look in Shaun’s eye was good, too. Usually Zach was the intense one of the pair of them, Shaun so laid back and ready to go along with whatever. Zach wanted – he _needed_  to know what was going to happen next.

What happened next was a blistering kiss from Shaun that sent white sparks firing behind Zach’s eyes, then his hands were loose, and Shaun was dragging his t-shirt free from his jeans, hauling it up and over Zach’s shoulders, along his arms, twisting it around Zach’s hands to hold them together above his head again.

It wasn’t like being tied down or anything; Zach tugged at it experimentally and noted that if he wanted to he could be free again in seconds. He decided – or rather, his dick decided, as Shaun slid down the bed and mouthed him through the denim of his jeans – to stay exactly where he was. The scrape of Shaun’s teeth and the wet heat of his breath and tongue sank right through the layers of denim and cotton and set every one of his nerves on fire.

Zach lifted his head a bit, the muscles of his shoulders protesting, to try and see what Shaun was doing, rolled his hips up against Shaun’s mouth as he bit and sucked on the moistening fabric. Shaun fumbled with the button on Zach’s jeans even as he ran his tongue along the curving lines of Zach’s ribs, and Zach squirmed a little to expose more of his skin to Shaun’s mouth.

Shaun popped the button and ran Zach’s zipper down, slid his hand inside, between the two layers of fabric. Zach thrust up into his hand - _yes, there, good -_ whimpering in his throat when Shaun pulled his hand away, keeping contact with just his fingertips. It was so good, but too damn gentle, and now Shaun’s mouth was on him again, but not where Zach wanted it most. He was running his tongue along the lines of the tattoo on the underside of Zach’s upper arm instead, outlining ‘Lucky 3’ with long swipes of his tongue, following the blue-black lines like a roadmap. Zach arched up towards him, tried to force more contact, but Shaun only pulled his hand away entirely and chuckled a little when Zach’s hips lifted to follow. “Patience, grasshopper,” Shaun teased, his voice thick and husky and deep.

“God... _dammit,_  Shaun-“ Shaun’s thumb rubbed across one of Zach’s nipples as his mouth grazed the outlines of the muscles in Zach’s abdomen, tongue trailing around the gentle dips that suggested a six-pack. Zach’s nipples tightened in response, a clench low in his stomach echoing the reaction, and his hips jerked up against the air. Shaun grabbed at the waist of Zach’s jeans and hauled them down off his hips, leaving his boxers in place. Zach tugged against the fabric of the shirt that wrapped around his hands and wrists, used the little bit of leverage that provided as incentive to rock up again, this time catching Shaun’s wrist against his cock on the way back up.

Shaun grinned and shifted away again, leaving Zach thrusting up against nothingness again. Zach groaned at that, a low guttural growl that turned into a gasp as Shaun dropped to his knees on the floor between Zach’s legs and pressed his closed lips against the hard bulge of Zach’s dick through the damp cotton of his boxers. That pressure turned into wet heat, the fabric between them changing the texture and feel of Shaun’s mouth and tongue into something rougher and less distinct, diffusing and spreading the sensation, so fucking good and yet nowhere near _enough._

Then Shaun’s fingers were in the elastic of Zach’s boxers, pulling them down just enough to expose his cock. The rush of cool air against Zach’s skin was bad enough, but then Shaun had to go and lean in close enough that Zach could feel his hot breath on the wet head of his cock, and how in the hell was that fair at _all_? He reached up, hips up, but Shaun only pulled back to keep his distance, then ran his tongue up Zach’s cock from balls to head in one long, slow swipe. Zach writhed in response, groaned low, his whole body lifting up into it, and he knew for an absolute certainty that it _was_ possible to die from wanting.

Shaun stood and braced himself on the bed with his hands on either side of Zach’s chest, legs pressing Zach’s knees apart as he licked and kissed and nipped his way up. Shaun grazed his teeth across Zach’s nipples, the straining muscles in his arms, sucked on his bottom lip before slowly, slowly, sliding back down along Zach’s side, finding the newest tattoo just above Zach’s hipbone that matched the one on Shaun’s own. He nipped at it, licked the arcs of ink, sucked on Zach’s hip hard enough to make him gasp and squirm, a little red mark blossoming there in the centre of the pair of linked rings as he moved on.

Shaun was trying to kill him, that was what it had to be. Zach alternated between raising his head so he could see what Shaun was doing, and falling back with his eyes closed because feeling it was too much, too hot; watching would break him into a million tiny pieces right there. And then he’d never fucking come, which seemed to be the core of Shaun’s evil plan. So he wasn’t watching when Shaun finally – oh thank _Christ_ – took Zach into his mouth, _the hot wet slick sweet_ of his mouth and tongue surrounding him completely.

Zach twisted his hands in the shirt still wrapped around them, bucked up into Shaun’s mouth once, twice, then bit his tongue, hard, to avoid yelling in indignation - _don’t wake up Cody; oh God, can’t wake up Cody now –_ when the feeling was gone again, the sudden shock of cold from the air a stark and bitter contrast.

“Fuck, _Shaun_ ,” he groaned instead, opened his eyes and licked his lips to moisten them, tried to see what Shaun was _doing_ down there- then he felt the long swipe of Shaun’s tongue on his balls, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin on the inside of Zach’s thigh, moving further down – Zach pulled up his knees to try and give Shaun better access, kicked off his boxers to let them fall to the floor.

And then Shaun’s mouth and hands were everywhere, never long enough in one spot to settle into a rhythm, teasing and exploring and tasting, his tongue circling the head of Zach’s cock one minute, then licking a moist line up and over his hip again the next. Zach was biting his lip so hard that he could taste a thread of blood, trying desperately not too much too much noise. He heard  a shuffle and the slide of the drawer of the nightstand, the click open of the bottle of lube they stashed in there, and relief suffused his body with a heated flush.

Zach whimpered, something he’d deny to his grave, but Shaun took pity, leaning in to wrap his spit-slicked fist around Zach’s cock and take the head into his mouth. He stroked up, sucked hard, moved his tongue against the ridge and vein, circled and pressed, _there_.

Oh thank _god_. Zach rocked up, thrust up into the long hot slide of Shaun’s clenched hand, his mouth, everything finally being touched at once, gripped tight and full and _oh there yes there; fuck, Shaun, fuck_ – he was saying it out loud in time to his movements and didn’t notice at first, every brain cell focused on his cock and hands and mouth.

Shaun pulled back again and Zach thought for an instant that he might actually curl up and die from the wanting, then he was back and a slick, wet finger was circling Zach’s perineum, his balls, then the sensitive ring of nerves around his ass- then Shaun was pressing inside, one finger, two, stroking and sucking and pushing up inside Zach – and had Zach told him often enough how much he loved those hands? And there was no more room in Zach’s mind for thoughts at all. He hauled his knees up higher, strained his hands against the shirt for counterpressure, arched up, thrust up, so tight, Shaun’s fingers moving inside him, and his mouth hot and on him, and there- there- there-

Zach thrust down on Shaun’s fingers desperately, arched, threw back his head against the bed and came for what felt like forever, the entire world full and hot and wet and _Shaun_. He rode it out, the trembling in his limbs replaced with a heavy, heady warmth, a bone-deep satiation that flickered back into remnants of desire when Shaun slipped his fingers out again. Zach stared at the ceiling as he slowly unwrapped the shirt from his hands, heard rather than saw Shaun grab for a towel, felt the weight of him settle down on the bed beside him while Zach tried to catch his breath and let his heart rate settle. He was empty again, undone, unmade, utterly wrung out. And wonderful.

Shaun leaned in and kissed Zach, an edge of desperation in his touch even as he gave Zach time to recover. “You are so hot right now,” he murmured, swiping his tongue down along the line of Zach’s jaw. “So beautiful.”

Zach turned over on his side to face him and Shaun rocked his hips up against him. There was no surprises there; Shaun was still harder than hell. He kissed Shaun, tasted himself on Shaun’s lips and tongue, and felt the answering stir deep within his core. Zach pushed Shaun back onto his back, an answering smile on his face. “Your turn.”

\--

Justin stared at the bare concrete wall. The wall stared back at him, as though daring him to make the first move.

A night of sleep and about three-quarters of a pot of coffee had worked their usual magic, and Justin hit the ground running the next day in a much better mood. Maybe it was the sunshine, maybe it was the caffeine, or the prospect of actually starting in on the project he’d been planning out in his head for half a year now, but even the HR meeting followed by the faculty meeting followed by stale doughnuts and cold tea in the department lounge couldn’t put much of a dent in his mood. He belonged to a department, which had a lounge. That in and of itself was pretty sweet.

He didn’t have to deal with students until later, which gave him the rest of the day off to sort out petty cash access and supply lists, and the thousand other incredibly tedious things that school bureaucracy seemed to demand. He’d be lying to himself if he said that it wasn’t a bit of a letdown, but being handed the keys to the studio space he’d be using for the duration made up for some of it. It wasn’t a huge space, and he’d be sharing it with his assistants for the project work, but he’d manage. And damn Daphne yesterday for dubbing them his ‘minions,’ because he just knew that was going to slip out at some inopportune moment.

The call had been bittersweet, Daphne’s laugh on the other end of the tinny phone line his last lifeline back home. Because despite Mom and Molly still back in Pittsburgh, New York _was_ home. Had become even more so once his long-time best friend had started her residency at Bellevue and it had become the Justin and Daphne show again, complete with a rotating cast of friends and boyfriends (and then, inevitably, ex-boyfriends) circling in and out of their lives. If he didn’t come home from LA with at least one good conquest story for her she was going to short-sheet his bed, or something equally junior-high and ridiculous.

Afternoon had found Justin back in the courtyard, this time with a measuring tape and a notepad, along with the printouts from Mira’s photo shoot from the day before. She’d objected to double-shooting with a digital, but now that he had everything in a binder rather than hanging to dry in her darkroom, he was glad he’d insisted. There was a place for the purity of the artistic process, and a place for Just Getting Shit Done. The reference binder was definitely the latter.

Justin was halfway up the stepladder alternately staring at the wall and doodling notes in his sketchbook, by the time the first of the kids showed up. He half-noticed Zach out of the corner of his eye, and held off on disengaging to speak to him until he’d managed to get that corner shaded in just- so. There. Except not. He dug in his pocket for his eraser, only to discover he’d left it in the satchel he’d dropped by the entrance to the courtyard.

“Grab that for me, would you?” he asked, distracted, waving vaguely in the direction of his bag.

A minute passed and Justin looked around, dragged out of his work by the irritating inability of his mistake to correct itself, and the similar lack of an eraser appearing within reach. Zach was setting his own bag down, and the flash of resentment that lowered his brow was obvious, even though he made it vanish – mostly – before he looked up again. “Sorry – do you mind?” Justin came down one step, only vaguely aware that he’d been brisk, his mind still caught up in layout diagrams and colour blocking.

“…no, of course not,” Zach’s reply was mildly sarcastic, but he actually went and grabbed Justin’s bag up from where it was sitting and brought it over. “That’s what we’re here for, right?”

“Yes, actually,” Justin replied, leaning forward to grab the strap of his bag. He hauled it up and rummaged through, looking for the gum eraser that he knew he’d shoved in there earlier. They had it pretty good, compared to the kind of ‘change this font’ and ‘set up these boards, then stand there and look pretty’ stuff he’d ended up doing during the first few weeks of his internship at Vangard.

He reminded himself to give Zach some of the sketches to look over before he went home tonight. Justin would be better off working on the parachute cloth sections in the studio; he could do those in shorter sessions and rest his hand in between, but the bigger stuff – that was what he was going to really need help with. And admitting it rankled, but it would be a chance for Zach to show off some of what he could do. Which was some of the point of choosing the muralist as one of his min- _assistants_  in the first place.

All of that went unsaid for the moment, though, distracted as he was, and Zach’s frown deepened. “Right. Sure.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his board shorts and hunched his shoulders like a kicked puppy, and Justin looked at him quizzically.

“Here-“ Justin dropped his bag carefully back down to the ground, then flipped over a couple of pages in his binder, popped the rings and pulled them out. “Take these-“

“What, you need someone to make photocopies? ” It was out before Zach could stop it, and he at least had the good grace to look a little bit guilty at the outburst, but the disgruntled expression remained. “Want some envelopes stuffed while I’m at it?”

Justin came back down the ladder, stopping on the bottom rung, and rested his elbow on the top step. He pulled his hand back with the binder pages still in it, his own reply coming just as impulsively. “Whatever’s eating at you? Get over it. You’re here to assist, or intern, or whatever they call it. And that’ll mean what I need it to mean. The prep for something like this is _all_ scutwork, for me, for you, for the girls – and the sooner we get it done, the faster we can get on to doing some of the cool shit.”

Zach’s hands balled up by his sides in reaction as Justin started to read him the riot act, but nothing came of it. He slumped rather than explode, which surprised Justin, braced as he had been for a blow-out. “Yeah, I get it,” Zach muttered instead, looking like he wanted to find a hole to crawl into. “Give me the pages, I’ll go do it.”

The wounded-bird act was more frustrating than anything else could have been, and Justin hoped to God that he wasn’t going to keep this up through the whole semester. “If you’re not interested in the project anymore,” Justin suggested sharply, “I’m sure there are a bunch of other students in your year who would jump at the chance.”

“I said I’d do it!” Zach replied, finally looking back up at Justin, fire in his eyes that he hadn’t had there before. Justin had hit a nerve, but at least he knew there was some kind of life in there, under those furrowed brows. “I’m your assistant. So I’ll _assist_.”

Justin bit his tongue so hard he was sure he was going to leave marks, and slapped the pages back down on top of the binder with a loud smack that made them both jump a little. “No. Not today.” Because right now, he was going to bite the kid’s head off. “Go home, Zach,” he ordered. “We’ll pick this up again tomorrow. With a better attitude.” The statement echoed back to him off the walls, both like and unlike his own voice, and Justin blanched.

 _Oh,_ fuck _. I sound_ exactly _like my father._

And that was a horrifying thought on so many unbelievable levels.

Zach didn’t need any further prompting. He turned on his heel and stormed out, grabbing up his bag as he passed it and vanishing around the corner of the building. “ _Shit_ ,” Justin hissed, and winged the plastic-covered pages in his hand across the courtyard in a burst of rage, at Zach, at the fight, and most especially at himself.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which arguments are had and gestalt is reached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, endless thank yous to my betas, [roane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/roane) and [moonbrightnights](http://moonbrightnites.livejournal.com/), for turning my flailing into fiction. 
> 
> See the end of the chapter for a rendition of Justin's mural proposal, as designed by my true beloved. The Spousal Unit has been an endless font of support through all of this, and this is just one of the reasons why I adore him so! [bows down]

**Chapter 3:**

Craig Taylor had been many things, and when Justin was young, his world had practically revolved around him. He’d poured so much energy into fighting for his attention, for his approval, for the clap on the shoulder, the warm smile and the ‘I’m proud of you, son.’ Those things had been rare enough when he was a kid. After Justin had come out, he’d never heard it again.

The one thing Craig had never been capable of, not once in his life, was admitting when he was wrong. Of apologizing, and meaning it. Which made _that_ , then, the one thing that Justin absolutely had to do before things escalated any further.

He’d gone back to the courtyard the night before in the waxing half-dark, gone with sketchbook and pencils and camera, spent his rage on paper and on pieces of charcoal that crumbled in his fingers and left smears of night across the page. Justin looked at them now in the daylight and saw the catharsis writ large, frustration and anger scrawled across paper that had been turned into – what? Two-dimensional wells in which to pour the emotions too large for a single body to contain.

May as well call it ‘art’. There wasn’t another word for it.

Voices echoed down the hallway and Justin closed his sketchbook, slid it into the satchel resting on the table beside him. He had a few minutes before the master class began, the class ahead of them still in the studio across the hall, glass and steel doors closed on the bustle of their clean up. He’d come in early to have a chance to explore a little more of the main building and get his bearings, the maps and directions his roommates had given him helpful, to a certain extent, but not as good as learning the twists and turns of the labyrinthine building with his own eyes and ears and feet.

Zach and his friends came around the corner at the far end of the hall, Callie texting something on her phone and Zach trying to hold a conversation on his, while the lanky redhead who had been sitting with them yesterday – _James? Jason? John. That was it –_ was busy trying to take it away, reaching over Zach’s shoulders and around his side when Zach turned to block him.

“Is that Shaun? Gimme. I wanna say hello to the wife.”

“Quit it, bitch,” Zach said, angling his elbow to catch John in his solar plexus as John made another abortive dive for the phone. “No, not you. Gotta go. Yeah – unf – you too.” Zach grunted as John stepped on his foot, wheeled around to cuff him in the back of the head. “And fuck you too,” he added as he tucked the phone away, with an easy grin that suggested the scuffle was absolutely nothing new.

“Language, please,” John said, dodging. “There are ladies present.”

Callie perked up at that and she looked away from her phone with a grin. “Really? Where?”

Their good moods buoyed Justin up as well, a little; maybe all was forgiven and forgotten. But Zach’s grin vanished when he saw Justin and he drew upright, slowed his pace as his expression grew wary. “Mister Taylor.”

Maybe not.

Justin stood up from where he’d been leaning against the wall, nodded and gave a faint smile to the trio. Better to get it over with now and see if he could salvage a decent working relationship out of this, or if he’d be in Moore’s office this afternoon explaining exactly how he’d already managed to chase off one of his students. Because that would be a brilliant fucking start to the semester.  

“Zach, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Zach nodded, kept walking towards him instead of stopping by the door. Callie and John gave the pair of men curious looks before Callie tugged John away to the water fountain, and Justin had little doubt they’d be bugging Zach for a play-by-play later. He waited until Zach was standing in front of him, swallowed his pride and manned up. “About yesterday-“

Zach didn’t look surprised by the conversation opener, nodding and shifting his hand on the strap of the backpack he had slung over one shoulder. Justin caught a glimpse of a line of small blue stars tattooed on the underside of Zach’s left wrist, and he added that piece of information to the mental picture he’d already begun to build of the skater kid. _Shaun – ‘wife’?_  Now that he was paying attention, a few observations began to gel. “Yeah, about that.” Zach shifted a little looked uncomfortable. “I shouldn’t have said what I did,” he began, but Justin cut him off.

“No, let me,” Justin began again. “I was out of line. I could blame it on jet lag, or any number of things, but the fact remains that I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that. No excuses.” The next piece of that litany was supposed to be ‘no apologies,’ but that hadn’t proven to be the healthiest of philosophies. And regrets? Yeah, he had a few. Justin held out a hand instead, an olive branch. “I’m sorry. Can we start over?”

There was a pause, a breath, then Zach’s shoulders straightened like a burden had been taken away and his hand gripped Justin’s in a firm handshake. His heavy silver ring was cool against Justin’s palm where it grazed his skin. There was a hesitant smile on Zach’s face as they dropped their hands, still a little wary despite the beginning of a thaw, and Justin got an inkling of the depths that might lie behind those blue-green eyes. _It’s a start._

“So about those photocopies,” Zach began, looking a little sheepish. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his grey hoodie and one corner of his mouth crooked upward in a hesitant half-smile.

Justin laughed softly, and shook his head. “I don’t need photocopies; I never did. How good’s your math?” he asked, arching an eyebrow in a mild challenge.

“Dude – I’m at an art school, what do _you_ think?” Zach chided him, his grin growing a little. He let the joke rest for a beat, then admitted, “pretty good, actually.”

Justin rummaged in his satchel for a minute and pulled out the pages from the day before, some of them a little creased from where he’d crumpled and flung them. He ignored that, and handed the packet to Zach. “Good. Then these are yours,” he explained, flipping over one of the plastic-covered pages as he explained. “The sketches are basically to scale, and I’ve got the dimensions for the space here- I need proper measurements for all the sections I’ve marked off. Once we’ve got the wall prepped, Callie can set up the projector grid according to your numbers.”

There was a light of interest flaring in Zach’s eyes that put the last of Justin’s original concerns to rest, and they bent their heads together over the sketches as Justin began to explain.

\--

“...differentiate the layers of the cityscapes with textures...”

“...aren’t the transitions going to be tricky to replicate in large scale?”

“Not at all – I’ve done this sort of thing before, and as long as the projector’s on a clean angle it won’t...”

Zach tuned out as the conversation swirled around him, three heads – one dark, one blond, one blue – bent over the handful of sketches and coloured designs spread out across the work table in Studio B. It was late in the day, the orange and red of the sunset outside the windows echoing the deep warm shades of the palette Taylor had used for his design. His work – at least what Zach had seen of it so far – was powerful, always sombre and dark, the kind of thing that grabbed the viewer by the throat and all but shouted ‘this is important, bitches.’ This wasn’t any different.

He could see how it was supposed to look, how it might look in the courtyard, where threads of gold from the sun would pick out the highlights that turned storm clouds into fire. He could see where the guy was coming from, after having four years of theory drummed into his head until he could recite design principles in his sleep. Didn’t mean he had to agree with it.

“Zach?” Taylor’s voice cut into Zach’s thoughts and he looked up, startled, the pen in his hand skidding a little across the page where he’d been doodling. Black boxes and triangles danced across the notebook, intersecting each other at odd angles, a cobblestone trail in ink that wandered off the corner of the paper and into nothingness. “Anything to add?”

Mira and Callie were quiet and looking at him, Callie’s brow furrowed a little like she wanted to ask something. Zach gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Not really.” ‘Cause what was he going to say? ‘You got it all wrong and I know better because...?’ Taylor might not be trying to dump him off the project at the moment, but that didn’t mean that Zach was ready to rock the boat.

Zach leaned back in his chair, his fingers itching for his pen again, to let the nervous energy of being put on the spot out onto the page. Taylor leaned back in his seat in what might have been an accidental mirror of Zach’s own posture, and frowned. He let it go, though, and grabbed the stack of papers in front of him to tap them into a semi-orderly pile. “I’ll call it here, then. Thanks, everyone.”

Finally! Freedom was that close, and Zach shoved his gear into his bag fully intent on heading for the door when Taylor caught his arm and stopped him. “Hang on a minute.” The door closed behind his classmates, leaving the two of them alone in the studio. “’Not really’ isn’t ‘no’,” Taylor pointed out, dropping his hand now that he had Zach’s attention. “If you have something to say, now’s the time to do it.”

The weight of his gaze was too much, and Zach felt his determination to stay out of it waver. “It’s not a question,” he said, tension in his jaw making his muscles tight. “I don’t think it’ll work.” There – it was out and nothing was going to take it back; may as well go all in. “The design’s not right. Not for what you’re trying to do.”

Taylor’s expression, which had been almost approaching warm while he spoke to the girls, closed in on itself again and he sounded annoyed as hell when he spoke. “Really.” And that wasn’t a question at all, like it maybe should have been. “And why is that?” That sounded more like a question, but it also wasn’t. Zach hesitated, but hell – he was committed now.

“It’s too dark, for one thing,” he argued, folding his arms in front of him. “If this is supposed to be inspirational, or aspirational, it’s not. It’s... brooding, and kind of... angry.” The air in the room seemed to get still and heavy, the mood changing as he spoke, and he wished desperately that he could bust out of there and head straight for the beach, like he’d done after that first confrontation; hit the water and let the salt and spray scour him clean again.

“Art _is_ dark,” Taylor replied, the frown still on his face and his brow lowering a little at the challenge. “The whole point is showing people things that they may not want to see, but that they need to see anyway. Sunshine and happy puppies don’t make for particularly deep commentary.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.” Zach shook his head, tried to figure out what he was trying to say. “I used to tag a bunch, you know? Street art – cranes and bridges and shit.” It sounded dismissive when he said it aloud but it was anything but; the girders and spans of metal and concrete had defined his childhood world, and as he’d grown they’d coalesced into a motif that ran through everything he did.

“I don’t see what that has to do with-“

“And it wasn’t about making people angry-“ Zach interrupted, shaking his head. If he stopped now, it was going to be impossible to find the words again. “And it wasn’t about making them sad. It was about surprise, about making them stop and think and look again, make them remember that the city was more than... I dunno. Roads and big box stores and the next parking lot over,” he said, the explanation running out in a rush of breath. He grabbed a phrase from the paper he’d written on tagging back in Artists’ Language in second year. Unger had eaten that shit up and he’d ended up with an A+. “To remember that the city was alive.”

“It’s easy to remember the good things,” Taylor said, pacing a little in the space left between the table and the far wall. “Life, hope, love – it’s a natural thing for people to gravitate towards those ideas. Art is for the things no one wants to talk about,” he folded his arms across his chest, his black shirt wrinkling and bunching with the movement. “Good art is a challenge; it needs to hit you in the gut. It forces you to _think_.”

Zach dropped his bag back on the table and scrabbled to find his copy of the proposal sketch. He laid it flat on the table and drummed his pen against it a couple of times before he started doodling again, crossing the bottoms off of the rectangular shapes that filled the left side of the image, scribbled over the figures so that they leaned into the light-

“You want a challenge – you can still have that, but if it’s for the school-“ Zach was running out of steam and language to describe what he was seeing in his mind’s eye, the pen doing the work for him instead. “I dunno. Wouldn’t something like this work a little better? Especially,” he grinned, reaching for a way to take some of the sting out of his words, “considering this is California, dude. Not New York. We get actual sunshine here.”

It wasn’t quite marking his territory, but he supposed it was kind of approaching that point. Zach raised his head from his sketch and locked eyes with Taylor, expecting to get more sarcasm back his way, something cutting and dry meant to put him back in his place-

What he saw instead, startled him. Taylor looked... defensive, yeah, but then he looked at Zach’s sketch again and his expression changed to ‘curious.’ Taken aback. Like Zach had given him something new and unexpected. He took a breath, looked like he was going to say something, then shook his head, braced his hands on the table and leaned in to get a better look. Zach caught a hint of that cologne again as Taylor leaned in, something warm and clean and exotic. “Show me,” Taylor requested, and Zach turned back to his sketch with a hit of giddiness. Whether it was from the request or something else entirely, he couldn’t begin to say.

\--

The first week had passed faster than Justin had imagined it would, bled into the second and then the third, the pace of his new workload leaving him with little time to worry about anything other than meeting the first string of deadlines. Tonight was something of an anomaly, finding him in his studio space on campus rather than in his room back at the dorm, or sprawled in one of the quieter corners of campus with paperwork and his sketchbook. But the three figure studies due for the master class were kicking his ass, and the solitude of the studio at night was his best chance to get _something_ done.

Justin stepped back from the small canvas, one of three laid out on the table in front of him, and frowned, rubbing his thumb against the tightness in his palm. Music was playing somewhere in the building and he bounced a little on his toes, the faint bass rhythm a focal point for his thoughts. The scale required for this assignment was a lot smaller than the size of canvas he’d become accustomed to working with over the last few years, and he’d grown complacent about it. Now, having to keep his hand steady for all the fine details was a lot harder than it should be. Justin let his hand go, shook it out with a grunt of frustration, and clenched his fists again to work out the tension. “Fuck.”

A soft cough and shuffle sounded behind him and Justin whipped around, startled, hands coming up in front of him in a defensive gesture- that he let drop when he recognized the figure in the doorway. “Zach.” Justin relaxed, the surprise and that little hateful hit of adrenaline ebbing away.

“Sorry,” Zach said, and Justin stepped back a little to let him into the room, dropped the fine-tip paintbrush he was using into the paint-streaked jar of cloudy water that sat on the table. It clattered against the other brushes already in there, before settling without further complaint. “I didn’t think anyone would be in here this time of night. You’re-“ he trailed off, looking a bit sheepish. “Usually not. I can get my stuff and let you get back to work,” he offered, sneaking a peek at the canvases Justin had laid out on the table in various stages of done-ness.  

Justin shook his head, realized he was automatically reaching for his hand to rub it again, and dropped them both back to his sides. “It’s fine,” he said, grabbing for a rag to clean some of the spots of blue paint off of his hands. “I needed to take a break anyway.”

“Cool,” Zach nodded, still a bit hesitant, and headed for the shelf unit that took up most of the far end. “Thanks.” He sorted through a stack of sketches and folders that had been stacked there and pulled a handful free. His ring caught the light, and Justin found himself watching the careful movements of his hands. _Bad idea, Taylor_. _He’s your student._

Justin dropped the rag and picked up his brush, intent on going back to work and taking his mind off of inappropriate things, but his hand – overworked, overstrained, overtired – betrayed him, the brush shaking in his grip. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath, dunking the brush back into the glass with a burst of frustrated anger. Ten years later, and the legacy of the bashing was still with him, would always be with him. His mental damnation of Chris Hobbes was entirely reflexive by this point, a mantra that had lost its power to soothe years ago.

Zach had looked up and over at his outburst, his brow momentarily furrowed with something approaching concern. “Something wrong?” he asked a little hesitantly, his eyes flickering to Justin’s hand as he spoke.  

Justin hesitated himself, but only for a moment. The Claw was one of the reasons he’d picked Zach as his assistant in the first place, was planning on giving him a decent amount of the work that needed doing. And it was hardly a major secret. He grabbed the rag again, and went back to cleaning the paint off his fingers. “My hand gives out after a while,” he explained, raising his head to meet Zach’s gaze with a steady look of his own. “It’s from an old injury, back in high school – one of the jocks bashed my head in with a baseball bat. For being gay.” There was no easy, clean or comforting way to put that, and he’d never had an interest in figuring one out.

“Fuck, dude.” The shocked recoil in Zach’s eyes almost made the disclosure worth it, and a little frisson of perverse satisfaction curled in Justin’s gut. “What happened to the guy – is he in jail, or what?”

Justin shook his head, no longer interested in the conversational turn. “He got community service,” he replied, his voice studied and neutral. The room was becoming stuffy and claustrophobic, and he patted down his pockets to see if – there. He cast a speculative look at Zach, and acted entirely on impulse, pulling the small silver cigarette case out of his pocket. “You smoke?”

Zach looked confused for a second, his eyes flickering to the case. “No- “ then he seemed to catch on. “Not cigarettes, anyway. And not much.” He tapped his papers into a pile and tucked them into his backpack as he spoke, pulling the zipper closed with a definitive tug. “Are you offering?”

“I found stairs up to the roof, this afternoon,” Justin explained with a flash of a grin. He grabbed the strap of his satchel and his jacket, tossing them both over his arm. “Come on.”

\--

“I don’t usually see you on campus this time of night,” Justin opened, flopping down on the rough-poured concrete of the roof, letting his bag and jacket fall to the ground beside him. He fumbled in his pocket for the case, popping it open and selecting one of the hand-rolled cigarettes inside. “You normally burn out of here pretty quickly after class.”

“Yeah,” Zach shrugged the question off, a little distracted as he settled himself down a bit awkwardly a couple of feet away. The lamps on the ground below cast enough light that they could see enough to move, but his expressions were half-hidden in shadow. “Cody passes out hardcore after soccer and Shaun’s got a book chapter due tomorrow, so it was easier to leave him to it.” And that was more about Zach’s private life than Justin had learned to date, barring a few comments overheard in passing.

“Cody,” Justin asked, flickering an eyebrow up. “That’s your son?” He’d picked up enough to know that Zach had a kid at home – his? A stepkid? And Shaun – that was the name he’d overheard before. Zach’s boyfriend? He found his lighter and flicked it a couple of times, the flame jumping up and dancing a little in the breeze.

“My nephew,” Zach corrected automatically, looking over at Justin again as he answered, something of a challenge in his eyes. Was he expecting Justin to have some kind of comment to make about it? “But I’ve – _we’ve -_ got custody. Shaun and I.”

“That’s got to be tough, along with school,” was all Justin had to offer to that one. He tried to imagine raising a kid, at Zach’s stage in life – found the idea almost impossible to visualize. Not that he didn’t like kids – once upon a time, he’d assumed that he’d have some himself. It was just what you did. But that mental picture had been rewritten a dozen times, and his current career (not to mention his usual taste in boyfriends) had rendered anything remotely along those lines seriously unlikely. At least for the time being.

“It’s not so bad,” Zach objected, still a little bit on the defensive. “Cody’s an awesome little dude. We manage.”

Justin lit the cigarette – weed was thankfully as easy to find here as it was on any college campus, even if you were technically faculty – and breathed in, held it for a moment to let the hit take hold. He passed it over, after a moment, his fingers brushing Zach’s lightly during the exchange. “It’s still a lot to juggle,” he said, watching with idle interest as Zach breathed in the smoke. “Kid, scholarship, extra credit projects- I’m impressed.”

Zach rested his arms on his bent knees, and a smile slowly grew across his face. “Thanks,” he said, letting it rest at that. He passed the cigarette back, the red tip flaring a little in the darkness, a darker star that the lights below couldn’t drown out with their glare.

\--

"OK. New one. What's the worst thing you ever did to make rent."

Zach heard a drag, a pause, a long slow exhale and watched a ribbon of smoke that snaked its way up into the diamond-spotted blackness of the night sky. There was music still playing somewhere below them in the building, the rise and fall of the half-heard sound counterpoint to the hum of traffic noise in the distance.

"Go-go boy. At this club, Babylon, back in Pittsburgh."

"Dude. No way."

"Way,” Justin mocked Zach’s inflection. “I needed to pay for school, and my dad wouldn't do it. He cut me off the year after I came out. My – the guy I was seeing at the time, Brian – he offered to pay, but that wasn't... I wanted to do it myself."

A pause, the rooftop breeze running invisible fingers through short hair and long.

"Yeah. I get that."

“OK, so that’s me. What about you?”

Zach leaned in and pinched the stubby end of the cigarette from Justin’s fingers, lay back on the rooftop again and stared up into the sky. He brought it to his lips, the paper warm and a little bit damp from the touch of two mouths, breathed in and let the heat and taste curl into him again. “Moved in with a guy I’d only been dating for three weeks?” he joked, knowing that the picture he was painting for Justin – he’d stopped being ‘Mister Taylor’ somewhere around the second hit – wasn’t accurate at all. And not really caring.

“It’s not quite as bad as it sounds,” he did hasten to add. “Shaun’s my best friend’s big brother; I’ve known him since Gabe and I were kids. I just didn’t...” he trailed off for a moment. “I didn’t know _me_ until a lot later. And we’ve been together almost four years now, so I guess it wasn’t that dumb an idea.” But that hadn’t been the question. “Jobs? Nothing exciting. I cooked at a diner for a few years, back in San Pedro. Worked at a grocery store. The usual shit.”

Zach let his hand fall sideways and knocked the ash from the end of the cigarette and passed it back to Justin, who was lying beside him on the concrete and staring up into the night sky. The city lights tinted the sky a faint yellow on top of the night-time black, only the brighter stars visible through the faint haze.

“I did the diner thing for a few years,” Justin replied, the red coal moving close to his face with a languid gesture of his hand, then away again.

“Cook?”

“Busboy.”

“Ah.” Something wasn’t quite adding up though, a thought that slipped away when Zach tried to chase it down. “You made enough that way to pay for tuition? Or were you on scholarship?”

The silence that passed between them then was less uncomfortable than it might been if Zach wasn’t rocking a pleasant buzz, or if they hadn’t been hanging out on a rooftop at eleven at night passing a joint back and forth. But it still hung there for a moment, long enough to taste.

“It didn’t, and I wasn’t,” Justin said, in a tone that sounded almost confessional. “Dealing with the claw and keeping my place at school was bad enough, never mind getting the kind of grades that you needed for a scholarship. And my shithead father made enough money that I couldn’t get financial aid. I dropped out partway through second year. This internship I had kind of blew up in my face,” he trailed off, as though there were more to the story that he was busy contemplating, then started up again. “And then life just kept on getting in the way. I never did go back.”

Justin turned his head on the ground, his blond hair falling back across the concrete and embedded gravel in tousled disarray. “So you’re one up on me already,” he told Zach, pointing at him with the last end of the cigarette. Zach stole it and brought it to his lips to finish it off. “Just by getting to Senior year.”

“But you’re working,” Zach pointed out, processing the new information much more slowly than usual. “So, you know, there’s that.” There was barely anything left between his fingers, and the heat of the end singed him so that he stubbed it out with a yelp.

“There’s that,” Justin agreed, rolling his arms back out and over his head, languid and catlike. A moment passed, silence-stretched, then he turned to his side and rose smoothly to his feet, holding a hand out to Zach to help him up. “Come on,” he coaxed with a wide and impossible smile. “Let’s go back down. I need you to show me how you do all that fine detail work with the spray cans.”

“Now?” Zach laughed in utter disbelief and grunted as he rolled up and over onto his knees, then his feet. The world swam for a moment, then righted itself. “You’ll be lucky if I can remember which end is the nozzle.”

“Bullshit,” Justin replied cheerfully, grabbing his bag and his jacket, and shoving Zach gently toward the door to the stairs that led back down, out of the chill night air, and into the school once more. “I’d put good money on your muscle memory, any day.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Justin's mural design, as conceived for his original grant proposal, rendered by the Spousal Unit:


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which big thoughts are thunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to my betas, [roane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/roane) and [moonbrightnights](http://moonbrightnites.livejournal.com/). All errors are mine, not theirs. 
> 
> (And yes, I know this chapter is a bit Z/S-heavy; have no fear. Justin has plenty coming up.)

**Chapter 4**

The first night that Zach didn’t make it home until well after midnight, Shaun didn’t think anything of it. His chapter was due and for the last few days writing had been like beating his head against a brick wall, so when the muse finally hit it hit hard. Once Cody was in bed he’d completely checked out, head down, buried in the rhythm of fingers on keys and the words slip-spilling out of him in waves. He’d woken up at three to Zach’s hand on his shoulder, his own face mashed sideways across the keyboard, square imprints on his cheek and a final line that read something like “bsaGGCVVVVV.”

It hadn’t occurred to him to ask what time Zach had gotten home.

The second and third times, the answer was obvious. Shaun had been in bed already, woken up from a shallow doze by the door to the apartment clicking open then closed, and light that spilled into the hallway from the bathroom door before the water began to run. Zach had still had plaster dust in his hair when he’d crawled into bed beside Shaun and looped an arm around him. The familiar weight and scent of Zach, the tempo of his breathing, allowed Shaun to settle into a deep and settled sleep, his dreams fleeting images that vanished in the morning with the alarm.

It took a cup of coffee propped under his nose and the threat of letting Cody in to jump on the bed to shift Zach out the following mornings, but he’d appeared at the breakfast table with bleary eyes and his t-shirt on backwards, his smile exhilarated when he talked about the progress they were making on the big project. Plastering and priming a wall didn’t sound particularly exciting to Shaun, but he could appreciate the fact that it was important to Zach, and the light in his eyes – despite his exhaustion – meant that Shaun couldn’t help but smile in return.

So that was all right, in general. But when the occasional late night turned into a twice-weekly event, Shaun began to get concerned. When the late nights began to outnumber the early ones and then creep into the weekends he became perturbed. Maybe even a little disconcerted. Zach had called home again to tell him to go ahead with dinner for himself and Codes, that Zach would grab something at school, and Shaun found himself going through the evening routine strictly by rote, his mind elsewhere. Cody didn’t seem to notice, thankfully, his mind on Pokémon and Parker who had some card that he needed, and how _totally unfair_ Mrs. Frasier had been for confiscating everything when it wasn’t like she’d been saying anything _interesting_ during class anyway.

And now it was past one in the morning and Shaun was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the living room, glaring at the chapter outline on the laptop in front of him that stubbornly refused to write itself, and Zach still wasn’t home.

The scratch-click of the key in the lock made him jump and look guiltily at the clock as though he were the one returning home late. But come on; it wasn’t as though they were kids with curfews, and Zach was working his ass off to finish his degree with honours, no less. With that sharp reminder to himself, Shaun was able to greet Zach with a harried smile from where he sat between the table and the couch. “Hey,” he offered up, taking in Zach’s tired appearance, the bags under his eyes, the sketchbook half-peeking out of the backpack that Zach dumped unceremoniously on the floor.

“Hey,” Zach smiled at Shaun, kicking off his shoes and taking a few steps into the room before collapsing dramatically on the couch. “You’re still up,” he observed, his voice muffled by the pillows. He shifted, worked an arm out and poked Shaun in the shoulder, his touch light.

“I wanted to get some writing done,” Shaun glossed over the truth a little. He turned and shifted so he was facing Zach, more or less – Zach’s back and shoulders, to be more accurate, as he was still face down on the couch, his feet up and over the arm, and looked like he was settling in for the long haul. His hands were smeared with graphite and pen this time, not paint and primer, the grey smudges picking out the lines and rough edges of skin along his fingers. Not the mural, then. Shaun wasn’t exactly sure why that relaxed him, but it did. He stroked one hand up along Zach’s spine, felt the answering shift in the muscles beneath his palm. “Long day?”

“Portfolio review tomorrow,” Zach mumbled indistinctly, “Sketch package due for Moore Thursday. Fucking essay for fucking New Media due Friday. Justin wants the wall completely primed before the weekend. Let me die.”

“Not a chance, babe,” Shaun grinned, rubbing Zach’s shoulders a little roughly. “I have plans for later that require you alive and in one piece.” A low, exhausted groan came from the couch in response and Shaun stopped moving, let his hand rest, warm and needy, between Zach’s shoulder blades. “Go to bed,” he suggested. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Gerroffnmmmrsss,” came Zach’s response. He rolled and slid, boneless, down the side of the couch rather than sit up, landing half in Shaun’s lap and half on the floor. They wrestled for a minute, Shaun managing to shove Zach up and on to his feet enough that he could point him in the direction of the bathroom. He sat back down on the floor as Zach stumbled off, shut the lid of the laptop and scrubbed his face with the palms of his hands. The sound of the water running made him smile, the largest piece of what made the apartment ‘home’ slotting back into place with an almost palpable sense of relief.

It never ceased to amaze Shaun, how easily Zach and Cody had fit into his life. He hardly noticed the eight-year age difference between them; Zach was so much older than his years. Life had done that to him, given him too much responsibility, too early. But he’d come out of it with a core of strength that never ceased to amaze. Asking him to move in had been one of the most ridiculously impulsive things that Shaun had ever done; kissing him, that night on the balcony of Larry’s beach house, had been another. He’d been impulsive, foolish, premature, flirting with danger in more ways than one... But Shaun had been drawn in inexorably, circling, admiring, seeing the teasing hints of the way Zach could fill the holes in Shaun’s life that had burned, empty, for years. 

He’d grabbed on fast, held on tight, and for almost four years now, it had been good, sweet, right. This semester was the culmination of everything Zach had been working toward; it was only natural that he’d throw himself into it with that same incredible dedication and drive that typified everything he did.

And if he wasn't careful, Zach would pull himself into pieces trying to be everything to everyone. He'd done it before, that first year, with a job at the greasy spoon around the corner that barely made sense to keep, except that Zach had been convinced that he needed to pitch in on the rent. It had taken eight months, one near-nervous breakdown (Zach's), threats of bodily harm (Shaun's), and a warning about possible academic probation (Moore’s) to make him quit and focus on school. So now that Zach was well and truly focussed, Shaun would be an utter tool to try and distract him from it now.

So Shaun just had to hang on until the end of term, avoid stressing out about the growing frequency of the evenings Zach came home smelling faintly of pot, and how ‘Mister Taylor’ had somehow become ‘Justin,’ and the nights so late they were effectively early mornings. Zach would do his thing. He would finish at the top of his class like he always did. Justin Taylor would go back to New York. And then everything would go back to normal.

The water stopped running in the bathroom. Shaun grabbed the edge of the couch, pulled himself up and, putting everything else out of his mind for the moment, headed down the hall toward the bed that wouldn’t be cold and empty tonight.

_\--_

**Fuck**

_Intriguing offer; tell me more._

**Dude did you just use a semicolon in a text?**

_This is why I’m the master, and you the student. Fuck?_

**Seminar meeting got pushed to 5 can you get cody?**

_Uhh. Hang on._

_Yeah, I’ll get him. You going to be out by 6? It’s soccer night. I can pick you up on the way._

**Shit. Ill skip out early if I have to. Not missing game.**

_K. Love you._

**Love you too.**

\--

For Justin, being at loose ends was particularly problematic. Funny as hell, according to Daphne, when she wasn’t getting angry at him for covering one wall of their bathroom with an intricate collage of different-coloured dots, or chain-smoking everything smokeable in the apartment without opening the windows. But problematic. The trouble was, he’d gotten used to the company in the evenings, to Zach on the other side of the table with his easel, or working on the courtyard wall at the foot of the ladder with putty knife and paint roller. And on nights like tonight, Zach gone home shortly after class had ended (“to remind my family that I’m still alive, dude,”) Justin felt somehow adrift.

It wasn’t that he was missing _Zach_... exactly. It was the camaraderie that had started to grow up between them, the sense of shared goals, easy humour, jokes that arose by mutual consent and became one-word references that Justin could wield to spark an easy answering smile. Justin could fake being social well, when he needed to, but a handful of close friends had been all he’d ever needed for himself. And out here, he had all the superficial, shallow situational acquaintances he could ask for, and not a single _friend._ Zach was probably the closest he had come, so far. And right now, Zach was at home with his nephew and his boyfriend, settling in for an evening of domestic bliss.

And, entirely coincidentally and in no way related whatsoever to his previous train of thought, Justin’s painting tonight sucked. And not in a fun way. He dropped his brush back into the water jar with a sound of disgust, wiped his hands on the rag that lay on the table beside his canvas, grabbed his jacket and headed for the studio door.

The campus spooled out before him, not as busy in the fading light as it was during the day, clusters of students parked here and there at benches or in circles on the lawns, sketchbooks and papers tucked away out of sight with the setting sun. Justin’s hand cramped up on him and he flexed his fingers slowly, feeling the answering pull and ache in the tendons and muscles that shifted, complaining, under his skin. The sense of dissatisfaction that had been dogging him all evening threatened to burst into a full-blown snit-fit, and he shoved his arms into the sleeves of his jacket and buried his fists deep into the pockets in reaction.

The irritation was familiar, comforting, somehow, and he wrapped it around himself like a blanket, or a suit of armour. He recognized a few of the things that sat at the base of it; the worst, currently, the feeling that something was _missing_. That there was an irregular hole somewhere inside, and his work was reflecting that. Zach had answers for that, of course, with everything he’d said about life and hope and inspiration, but Justin wasn’t sure that was the right solution either. Adding pink or white into his usual colour palette wasn’t going to change things.

Life was generally good, he had to concede that. For a young(ish) man in a highly competitive field full of back-biting cunts, the fact that most of his reviews were solidly positive was an incredible victory. The fact that he was even getting reviewed at _all_ was a minor triumph. And most of the time, it was easy to believe his own hype. He knew to his core that his art was a fire that couldn’t be quenched, that it was meant to explode across the world in colour, in that burning fever to move, push, _create_. It was what he’d been living and breathing for years, the obsession that consumed him.

But there was still something missing, and being out here, being at loose ends, made that seem clearer than it had been back home.

Once upon a time he’d have called that void loneliness, looked to Brian to fill it up for him, take on the responsibility for making him whole. It had been a dumb thing to expect, too much to ask from another person. At least he had the excuse of having been really young at the time, and prone to big romantic fantasies. No-one on earth could have lived up to all of it, much less Brian, who had come with his own set of issues and expectations. 

No regrets. Was that even possible?  

The way things had ended with Ethan had left no room for regrets, at least not about any unfinished business between them. After seven months with Nick he’d been so over it that even the sound of Nick’s breathing had been enough to make Justin fantasize about smothering him with his stupid foam pillow, ergonomics be damned. Graeme had gotten fed up with Justin first, his vaguely anal-retentive morning-person needs at first ignored in favour of the excitement, apparently, of the hot-artist-boyfriend. But the rush and new relationship energy hadn’t lasted long enough, and Justin would never be the early-rising middle-manager of Graeme’s secret dreams. If he’d been ten years older, and Blake not around, Justin might have considered introducing him to Ted. Which left – what? Zach at home with his family and Justin walking alone in the dark.

And he was brooding again, which he needed to knock off right the fuck now. Brooding was for teenage girls and emo queens.

Justin had his phone out and was mashing a number on the keypad before he could stop and overthink this, too. Three rings and it went to voicemail, Daphne’s cheerful reminder to ‘leave a message at the tone, unless you’re my idiot roommate, in which case remember to buy milk’ familiar and almost comforting enough by itself. “It’s your turn to buy the milk, Daph, and change your outgoing until I get home,” was the only message he left, hanging up and tucking the phone back into his pocket with a coil of dissatisfaction lingering in his gut.

It was too early to go back to the dorm for the evening, and his hand was still sending up warning flares to remind him that returning to the studio would be a pointless exercise in self-abuse. The walk was good, but it left him way too much silence to fill with thinking. The only gay bar between the campus and West-fucking-Hollywood was a hideous dive down in Reseda that was half an hour from campus by cab, never mind the ludicrous bus system. There was always the off chance that Dom would be driving down to see his girlfriend in Encino... if the stars aligned just right, there was a possibility of bumming a ride. It was better than nothing. Justin came to a fork in the road, hesitated there only for a moment, then struck out back along the winding concrete that led toward the residence hall.

\--

_Can you pick up milk and Cheerios on the way home? Cody just finished them off._

**Sure. Macs might be closed by then tho**

_Another late one?_

**Yeah. Got stuff to do in the studio b4 moores class tomorrow. Ill get the late bus. Sorry.**

_Do what you gotta do. S’ok. Love you._

**You too**

**\--**

Zach turned his key in the lock as gently as he could, felt rather than heard the click-pop of the latch clicking over. He braced his hand against the edge of the apartment door to ease it open, slipped inside and breathed a sigh of relief to find the living room dark and empty. It had been another one of those ‘I’ll be home by eight’ nights that had turned into ‘home by ten’ and then he’d missed the late bus so Callie had offered a ride, but she just had to do one last thing, and then one more... So he’d ended up on the front steps hanging out with Justin again while he smoked and told stories about his friends in New York, until Callie came hurtling down the stairs full of ‘God, I hate my life’ and ‘fuck this art shit’ and ‘goodnight, Mr. Taylor,’ to grab Zach by the arm and haul him away.

The clock on the DVD player blinked at him reproachfully - 1:46 - 1:46 - 1:47 – as Zach dropped his bag on the couch. He paused in the hallway, his original intent to check on Cody forgotten when he noticed the soft light spilling from the door to the bedroom he shared with Shaun. Damn; he’d been waiting up after all. Not that he didn’t appreciate it – it seemed like they barely saw each other awake at all these days – but right now all he wanted to do was fall over and sleep.

He felt a ripple of guilt in his gut at the thought, then at himself for feeling guilty about feeling tired, then at the entire situation – school, homework, the mural project, everything that was eating up time he could have been spending at home. Or better yet, working at something that paid, to take the burden of supporting all of them off of Shaun. And then when he was at home, he was busy feeling guilty about all the schoolwork waiting for him, as well as for the relief he felt when he did get into the studio, could sink into his work and pretend, for a little while, that nothing else in the world mattered. Or even existed.

He turned and continued on his original trajectory, cracking Cody’s door open to take a quick look inside. He could pick out the sprawling line that was Cody under the blankets, barely visible in the dim orange glow of the nightlight. A shock of brown hair was the only thing visible on the pillow, the rest of him buried deep in the warm confines of the single bed. Zach closed the door again, still unsettled, and padded down the hallway to the bedroom at the other end.

Shaun was where Zach expected him to be, half-sitting up in bed waiting for him, propped up on pillows, the bedside lamp giving the room a warm and welcoming glow. But Shaun’s laptop had been closed and set on the floor, and his folded arms and eyes closed in sleep suggested that, whatever he’d been intending to do when Zach got home, being woken up now wasn’t going to end in anything except grumbling. Zach shucked off his jeans and hoodie, tossed them into the overflowing basket near the closet door, crawled into bed and turned off the light. Tomorrow, he promised himself as he folded his arm under his head and tried to settle in to sleep. Tomorrow he’d make it up to both of them.

\--

The alarm peeped... alarmingly, and Shaun hated himself for not coming up with a better term than that, even while he fumbled on the bedside table to turn it off. Zach was a dead weight in the bed beside him, and other than knowing for sure that he hadn’t been there when Shaun had passed out – whenever that had been – his sleeping form held no clues as to when he’d finally made it home. He was still wearing the t-shirt he’d left the house in the previous morning, a brown one he’d pinched from Shaun a couple of years ago, and the sight of him, sleep-mussed and vulnerable, utterly free from the tension that he carried around with him during his waking hours- it was compelling, and Shaun leaned in to brush the nape of Zach’s neck with his lips.

The smell of stale smoke was not what Shaun had been expecting, and he pulled back abruptly, sat up in bed. Zach didn’t smoke, not that he knew of, anyway. Had he been out at a bar instead of at the studio? Or – more likely, he tried to convince himself, shared one with Callie, as a one-off thing. A lot of Zach’s classmates smoked. He was pretty sure Zach had mentioned that Justin Taylor smoked. Shaun really didn’t like the options that his reasonably fertile imagination was throwing at him. Shaun laid his hand on Zach’s shoulder to wake him; it was time he was up anyway. They had all of half an hour before Cody’s alarm went off and morning chaos began in earnest.

“Exactly when did you start smoking?” It came out a lot snippier than he’d intended, and he cut off the question before he could say something he’d regret.

Zach stirred, rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, and muttered. “Gmmmmffff. Hi. Morning.” The smell was stronger when he moved; it must have been clinging to his shirt.

“Zach.”

“Hng?” Zach was waking up slowly, the dark circles under his eyes a little bit worse with every long night he pulled. “I don’t smoke. A little pot. That’s not news.”

He looked befuddled, and Shaun’s frustration rose along with the suspicion – unfounded, it had to be – that Zach was maybe playing a little dumb. Shaun turned away and swung his legs out over the side of the bed, grabbed a clean t-shirt from the basket on the floor. Another thing he hadn’t gotten to, because he was spending all of his time taking care of the things that Zach couldn’t. Was this what it had been like for Zach, always there for Jeanne to rely on? The thought appalled him, and he lashed out, as much at himself as at Zach, as he pulled the shirt on and stood, abruptly. “Then did you go somewhere after the studio last night? The whole bed reeks of cigarettes.”

“Jesus, what crawled up your butt?” Zach propped himself up on his elbows and glared at Shaun. “I didn’t go out. Like there’s anywhere interesting to go around here. Whatever you’re smelling, it’s probably from Justin.”

“Taylor?” Okay, now Shaun was pissed.

“...yeah. He was smoking while I was waiting for Callie last night. He hung out to keep me company.”

“Yeah. I’ll bet he did. Go shower. You smell like an ashtray.” Shaun hauled on his sweats and headed for the bedroom door, leaving it hanging open as he headed for the bathroom. He was briefly tempted to slam it, but that wouldn’t do anything except freak Cody out. What he really wanted was to go disappear to a beach somewhere, preferably back in Pacific Bluffs, and let the waves scour everything clean again. But there was no beach at hand, and no time to do it even if there was a reasonable surfing spot within fifty miles, and Shaun heard Zach’s angry rejoinder from the bedroom even as he closed the bathroom door.

“Good fucking morning to you, too.”

\--

“You look like shit,” Justin greeted Zach with a cool appraisal as he slumped into the courtyard. Justin set the paintbrush he was using back down into the tray and rested his arm on the top rung of the stepladder he was currently standing on.

Zach looked up at him, his brow furrowed, then wordlessly dropped his bag and jacket in the corner away from the cans of paint and primer. “Thanks,” he muttered, obviously not meaning it.

Justin cocked his head a little, watched him as he got himself sorted out, and frowned. The girls would be arriving within minutes so it wasn’t like they had a lot of time to talk, but the difference in Zach today was enough that he needed to at least ask. “Something wrong?” It was a bit of a boneheaded question, considering that Zach looked like someone had run over his dog, or been playing an airhorn outside his window all night, but it was an easy opener.

“No,” Zach blew him off, grabbing the reference binder as he approached, obviously intent on diving straight into work. He looked up, caught Justin’s eye, and shrugged a bit uncomfortably. “I’ve been here a lot; it’s tough on Shaun. It’ll be fine.”

Justin nodded, and turned back to his work. And while his eyes flickered over, later, when Zach’s phone buzzed, and he watched for a moment while Zach turned it off without answering, he kept quiet and left it at that.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My betas. They fix things and are phenomenal. [roane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/roane) and [moonbrightnights](http://moonbrightnites.livejournal.com/). MBN, especially, is responsible for this chapter not being a steaming pile. Send her hugs!

**Chapter 5:**

 

“So?”

Justin flopped backwards over the tiny bed in his dorm room and stared at the overlapping streaks of white and off-white paint where the ceiling met the wall. His smile turned into a flash of a frown at Daphne’s question and he picked idly at the bedspread with the hand he wasn’t using to hold the phone. “What ‘so’? There is no ‘so.’”

He was inside early tonight, chased out of the courtyard by the storm currently lashing rain against his windows. Seizing the chance for a long conversation with Daph before time zone issues sent her off to bed had been much more appealing a thought than doing homework for the master class or watching dumb TV in the common room.

‘Had been’ being the operative term.

“So... what’s going on with you and Zach?” Daphne’s voice was a little reproachful, losing some of her usual easy laughter. Justin winced a bit at that. He could guess at what was coming – he knew her too well by now to miss the change in her tone. God, how long had they known each other? Kindergarten. And now the little girl with the perpetually skinned knees and dark frizzy pigtails was Doctor Chanders, and he was Professor Taylor (at least for another two months), and wasn’t life just so fucking weird sometimes?

“Nothing’s going on,” Justin objected half-heartedly, turning to hang his head and his feet off opposite sides of the bed. “He’s got a boyfriend, and as far as I know, they don’t fuck around.” If he stretched a little, arched his back a bit more, he could just about brush the ends of his hair against the floor like this... “And why are you bringing up Zach? I haven’t said anything about him tonight.”

“Which is totally weird,” Daphne jumped in before he could equivocate further. “Because his name comes up way too often when we talk. So logically, now that you’re not talking about him, something’s happened.”  

“Nothing’s happened. Nothing’s going to happen.” Justin rolled his eyes at Daphne, though of course she couldn’t see the gesture through the phone.

“But you want something to happen.” He could hear Daphne moving through the apartment as she spoke, the soft padding of her feet on the parquet floor, the click and sigh of the fridge as she opened it – no, the freezer, because the next sound was the gentle clink of ice into a glass.

“No! Yes. No. I don’t know. He’s technically my student, Daph. That makes it not only weird, but unethical. I could get fired for screwing around with him, and that’s presuming he’d want to in the first place.” Though while he said it, Justin had a pretty strong hunch that the attraction wasn’t at all one-sided. Whether Justin felt like being ‘the other guy,’ however, consciously choosing to be on the other point of a triangle – that was a different issue altogether.

“All the more reason to leave it alone,” she pointed out, correctly enough. “This isn’t like high school, where we could get away with stuff. Even the kind of stuff _you_ were doing while we were in high school. Now that we’re adults – theoretically, anyway - there are real consequences.”

More footsteps, then a soft sigh; she was sitting in the beanbag chair, he guessed. “Not that the possibility of getting fired for acting on impulse has stopped you before,” Daphne teased. “But what you need is a major distraction. Get hot-but-married-boy off your mind for once and for all. Aren’t there any other cute guys out there just waiting for the ultimate Justin Taylor experience?”

“Fuck you, Daphne.”

“Been there, done that,” came the immediate retort. “Unimpressed.”

“That's not true!” He laughed, a little incredulous.

“Is so. I was just trying to spare your feelings,” she replied archly. He could close his eyes and see her toss her hair the way she did when she was feeling particularly imperious. “Look, Justin, I just hate hearing you sound so down. You’re in LA, for God’s sake. You should be out partying with the beautiful people. Picking up hot guys and breaking their hearts.”

He lost it a little bit at that, cracking up at her tone, at the sure and certain knowledge that she was doing everything she could to get him to do just that. “And I thought you were the smart one. Aren’t you supposed to be talking me out of doing stupid things?”

“Since when has that ever worked?  I figure, no matter what I say you’re going to do something boneheaded anyway, so I may as well be along for the ride. Anyway, if it _were_ up to me, you’d be back with-“

“Don’t go there, Daph.” That killed the moment, but he shook off the momentary flash of irritation.

“Sorry.” Except he knew that she wasn’t. He heard a slurp and a crunching noise that was like nails on a chalkboard.

“Are you chewing ice at me? That’s so gross. You have no idea how gross that is, especially over the phone. It multiplies the gross by a factor of ten, at least.” He groaned dramatically, rolled back over and tried to sit up, fighting dizziness as all the blood rushed away from his head.

“You’re not serious. How can you be almost thirty-”

“Shut up. I’ve still got two whole years.”

“ _Almost thirty_ ,” she repeated with dramatic emphasis, “and you still get all wiggy about ice chewing?”

“How can you be _almost a doctor_ ,” he returned in the same mocking tones, “and not have any idea how bad that is for your teeth? Every crunch is the sound of you getting closer to your future dentures. You’ll have to take them out at night and tawk wik dif-” he rolled his lips in and mumbled, grinning wide at the sound of Daphne’s laughter on the other end.

“And I’ll leave them sitting in a glass on the kitchen table evvvvvvery night, just for you.”

\--

The storm passed, leaving fresh spring air in its place. Relatively speaking, of course. Early March in LA was nothing at all like it was in Pittsburgh or New York, and for that Justin was grateful. Normally he liked seasons; right now the sun was doing him a world of good. It beat warm on his back in the courtyard, drying the paint minutes after he stroked it on the primed surface. He’d found his rhythm easily today, the bustle of the others around him barely noticeable as he worked, lost in the moment. It was how he missed the new arrival coming around the corner, how he didn’t clue in that something was going on until the shout cut in to his reverie.

Until he looked down from the ladder and realized that Zach was being attacked.

Justin was down two steps of the stepladder before he actually processed the situation; the stranger had Zach in a headlock, but Zach wasn’t struggling. He was... he was _laughing_ , and punching the guy in the ribs until he let him go, and the two men moved into an easy, comfortable hug.

“This where you’ve been hiding, bro-mo?” the guy was saying, pounding Zach on the back with gusto before pulling back to look at him and grin.

“If by ‘hiding’ you mean working my ass off, yeah,” Zach joked back, looking more relaxed now than Justin had seen him in easily a week. “What the hell are you doing here, dude?”

Justin’s hand ached and he realized that he’d clenched his fist around his brush as though it were a weapon, and he could – what? _Paint_ a basher to death? Nice one. He forced himself to relax, rested his elbow casually on the top of the stepladder like it was what he’d meant to do all along.

“I had a couple of extra days off so I figured I’d come up and hang with my bros – shoot the shit, maybe offer to babysit so you two can go out and get your freak on. I called Shaun and he told me you were here, so!” Zach’s friend gestured expansively, an idiotic grin on his face that matched his surfer-dude look: board shorts, two shirts, popped collar, _ugh_. “How much longer are you on the clock?”

Zach glanced at his watch then up at Justin on the ladder before turning back to his friend, his expression warring between glee and guilt. “I’ve done my hours for the week, technically, but there’s still a shitload of stuff left to do-“

Justin set his brush down and descended the last couple of rungs of the ladder before turning to face Zach and his buddy. He was well within earshot, and it wasn’t worth it to pretend that he wasn’t half-listening to their conversation. “And you’ve been working your ass off,” he repeated Zach’s earlier comment, though reluctantly. “Get out of here. Mira and I can keep going today, and I’ll see you in class Monday.”

“Right on,” Zach’s friend replied with a grin, then looked between the two of them as though trying to figure out Justin’s role in the whole thing. Justin supposed the paint-splattered t-shirt and oversized cargo pants didn’t exactly make him look like respectable teacher material, but this was hardly a lecture hall at NYU.

Zach jumped in with an introduction, sparing Justin the effort. “Justin, Gabe.” The name was familiar from some of the stories Justin had heard from Zach during their breaks; it had usually been connected to serious close-calls with the police, heavy drinking and chasing girls. Yeah, he could see how that all fit. “He’s Shaun’s brother. We’ve been best friends since what – ninth grade? Gabe, Justin Taylor. He’s the artist in residence here this term, and he’s the one in charge of the mural project.”

Gabe’s expression changed a little when Zach introduced them; Justin could see the walls sliding into place behind his eyes, his jaw setting. “Oh yeah; Shaun mentioned you.” His voice was cool when he extended his hand to shake Justin’s, and Justin matched Gabe’s grip with a strong one of his own. There was no way in hell Justin was going to let this overgrown frat boy intimidate him; not now, not _ever_.

The tension had locked his shoulders tight the moment he’d seen this guy, and not even Zach’s obvious affection for him was shifting it. The way Gabe was looking at him, with what looked like wariness – or was it disdain? – didn’t help matters at all. “All good things, I hope,” Justin delivered the clichéd response with another flat smile, taking back his hand as Gabe dropped the contact.

“Yeah, of course.” Gabe’s reply was just as cool. The happiness that Zach had been radiating a moment before, that rare flash of exuberance that lit his face from the inside and made him momentarily luminous, faded as he looked between the two of them.

Justin felt a pang of regret at being a partial cause of it, and was the first to withdraw. “Good to hear.” He stepped back toward the ladder and set one foot on the bottom rung. “Have a nice weekend.”

Zach hesitated, looked like he was about to say something, but Gabe slapped him heartily on the shoulder and he turned away instead. Justin went back up the ladder, paying more attention to the conversation below than he was willing to admit.

“So where’s that Callie girl – she here today? You gotta hook me up, bro. That piece is tight!”

“You’re really not her type, dude.”

“Aw man; what kind of wingman are you?”

“The kind that wants to make sure you don’t epically crash and burn.”

Their voices faded out as they headed out of the courtyard, the easy repartee between the two of them doing nothing to help Justin recapture his earlier good mood. He mounted the ladder, picked up his brush again, and tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to get back to work.

\--

Zach was trapped on the shotgun side of Gabe’s car, on the way back to the apartment, when Gabe finally brought up the subject he’d been dreading. The freeway was jammed up, so typical of this time of day. “OK, out with it, dude,” Gabe opened, leaning back in the driver’s seat and looking for all the world like he was totally relaxed, at least to the casual observer. The glances he kept stealing toward Zach said otherwise, though, as did the drumming of his fingers against the steering wheel. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Zach replied, buying himself some time. He had a pretty good idea what Gabe meant, though. Of course Gabe and Shaun talked about stuff – they were brothers, and closer than Zach and Jeanne had ever been. Even if he didn’t know precisely what had been said, the stare down between Gabe and Justin in the courtyard hadn’t come out of nowhere. And he really wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“This Taylor guy, for one thing. The last time we actually talked for more than thirty seconds you were complaining about him like he was the antichrist or some shit, and now you’re all into first names. What’s up with that?” Gabe frowned, then slammed his palm against the horn when some asshole in a Beemer cut him off.

Zach shrugged, his chest oddly heavy as he tried to figure out if there was any way to answer that question properly. “Dunno. I misjudged him. It happens. I was lucky that he was cool about it. He’s been like a mentor, I guess. He’s had lots of work in galleries and things. I’m learning a lot from him.”

“Something’s going down that’s more than that, dude. Shaun’s freaking out.” Gabe didn’t get serious often, and the hint of censure in his voice intensified the guilt that was rising up inside. Zach swallowed it back, worrying at the edge of his thumbnail with his teeth.  

“I’ve been late a lot; I’ve got a shit-ton of work to do. They’re riding us stupidly hard this term, because we’re the graduating seniors. We’ve talked about it.” Yelled about it, anyway. It hadn’t quite gotten to the point where one of them was sleeping on the couch, but there had been moments where that had seemed like the easier option. “It’s cool,” Zach lied, watching out the window as they crawled through the afternoon traffic. It was easier than looking Gabe in the eye. “We’ll be ok.” He did look over at Gabe, then, searched his face for some clue as to what he was thinking, what had been said in that phone call, what would be waiting for him at home- “Shaun told you?”

“He didn’t need to, dude. He’s my brother. Obviously I don’t know him like you do – because that would be, like, sixteen different kinds of disgusting, not to mention illegal – but I can tell when he’s wigging.” Gabe might look a lot more corporate now that he was working for his stepdad’s firm – the short hair especially had taken Zach a long time to get used to. But out of the office, out of the expensive suits and fancy shoes, it felt like nothing had changed since high school. Including his habit of saying whatever the fuck happened to pop into his head at any given moment.

Zach groaned inwardly and sank further down into his seat. Gabe meant well, he always did, but the last thing he needed was for this to become a _thing_. It was just school stress, that was all, and as such, it had a definite ending point. Assuming he didn’t flunk out, of course. “I told you, we’re cool. Just drop it.”

Gabe shook his head. "You're not breaking up again, are you? Fuck. Tell me you're not breaking up, because then what do I do? I mean, which of you gets custody of _me_?” Gabe looked appropriately horrified, and plowed on, as always, his mouth running away with him. “Shaun can be a real pain in the ass sometimes, right? But he's my brother. And that's blood. But you're my bro and we've always been bros. I'm here for you, dude, through thick and thin. But shit like Christmas would be just too fucking awkward to cope."

"We're not breaking up, Gabe.”  But Zach was on the defensive, and a thousand thoughts he didn’t particularly want were swirling around in his head. He scrubbed at the back of his neck and stared out the window as a looming sense of dread began to encroach on his full-body exhaustion. “At least, not as far as I know.” Shit. “Did you give Shaun that speech too?”

There was a pregnant pause, a meaningful pause. An ‘I’m going to wring Gabe’s neck’ kind of pause.

“You did, didn’t you?”

“Might’ve.”

“Fuck.”

Because that was all he needed; more people making his life all about them. It always came back to him, up to him to bend, bend until he felt like he might actually begin to break. It wasn’t like he’d done anything wrong, anyway. Justin was one of his teachers, and it was a good thing they were getting along now, wasn’t it? More than getting along. Being around him was easy, now; maybe even a little bit exciting. Justin got him the way few people did, understood the things he was trying to say in paint and ink that he could never quite manage to get across in words. 

It would be easier for everyone if Justin were old and gross, or a girl, but he wasn’t. And Zach’s graduation, his _future_ , depended on the work they were doing together.

Zach had always been good at fixing things for other people. He just couldn’t see a clear way around this one. He watched out the window instead, as the traffic started to clear and the car picked up speed, eating up the tarmac and minute by minute bringing them closer to home.

\--

Justin didn’t hear from Zach all weekend, an oddity when compared to the hours they’d been spending together over the last few weeks, either alone or with the girls. By Sunday afternoon he was restless and more than a little bored, and dealing with the pile-up of emails - from Brenda, the registrar’s office, his mother – lost out against the urge to get outside.

The campus was uninspiring, panicked students cramming themselves into library carrels and studio spaces to recover from midterms and start preparing for finals. Justin grabbed a bus instead and headed into what passed for a downtown core, found himself a cafe with a patio and coffee that didn’t entirely suck. An hour later, he was sitting at a table outside in the later afternoon sun, his second coffee refill by his elbow. He was doodling in his sketchbook – figure studies, mostly, sketchy and unfinished: a woman with shopping bags; a girl by the fountain with her head bent over a book; Zach, grinning self-consciously with paint smudged on his cheek; a tall, lean man, half in shadow, who was starting to bear a disturbing resemblance to-

A real shadow fell over his open sketchbook and Justin looked up, startled both by the change in light and the realization that he’d been so engrossed in his work that he hadn’t registered Gabe’s approach. The rush of surprise turned to wariness when he recognized Zach’s friend from the other day. Gabe looked just as surprised to see him, but he stopped as he passed the table near the edge of the sidewalk.

“Taylor?” he opened, looking uncomfortable, the serious expression not sitting well on a face that seemed more used to easy laughter. He blinked, like he was trying to decide whether or not to say something, then pushed on. “Can I talk to you for a minute, dude? It’s about Zach.”

“Gabe, isn’t it?” Justin stood, trying to get himself onto a more even footing. Zach had a couple of inches of height on Justin already and Gabe was taller still, somewhere in the range of six feet. He was broad-shouldered where Justin was slim, his toned arms suggestive of a lot of hours spent in the gym – or, more likely out here – in the surf. He wasn’t looming, per se, but he was taking up a lot of space that Justin would like to have back, thank you very much. “About Zach – why? Did something happen?” He tried to focus on the words rather than their physical mismatch, convince his overactive limbic system that he wasn’t in danger. There was a table between them, for one thing, and Gabe’s hands were empty.  

“No, I mean, yeah – I wasn’t going to say anything, but since you’re, like, here and all. I don’t know what’s going on with you two, exactly, but you’ve gotta leave Zach alone outside of class time. He’s a good guy, and, like, he lives to help people out, but he lets people take advantage of that way too much.” Gabe’s discomfort was becoming obvious, despite his pseudo-casual posture. Justin narrowed his eyes at that, his stomach lurching a little with a familiar rush of fight-or-flight.

“I’m really sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Justin replied coolly, to buy himself some time. It wasn’t true, of course; he had a pretty good idea what Shaun must be thinking about the long hours Zach was spending at school lately. If he hadn’t been able to guess from Zach’s mood this past week, Gabe’s reaction to him on campus the other day would have confirmed it.

“Seriously? You’ve got other assistants. Maybe some of them can be your right hand dudes for a while; let Zach have some chill time with his boys. He and Shaun have been through too much together to let shit get all fucked up now.” Gabe shook his head, made as though he was going to step in closer.

Justin’s heart hammered in his chest and he tried to ignore it, his hand tightening on the back of the chair beside him. “Zach’s an adult,” he shot back, standing his ground. “He’s capable of making his own decisions, and he knows the amount of work involved with this project. I’m not harassing him, or tying him down-“ _now there was an idea._ He stopped that train of thought instantly as seriously counterproductive. “Other than the ten hours a week he needs for his credit, how much time he devotes to it is his call.”

“If you know Zach at all, you’d know he doesn’t work that way,” Gabe replied, brow furrowing. “When he’s into something, he’s all-in. Even when it’s running him down something fierce.” __

“That’s called dedication,” Justin replied, bristling. The surge of adrenaline had started to die down. He could already feel the rush ebbing, replaced with a general fatigue that suffused him to the bone. “And if you want something – if you want it badly enough – sometimes you just have to tell the rest of the world to fuck off for a while so you can focus. Let him _be_ all-in, instead of trying to wrestle him back into mediocrity.”   

“I’m not here to get into a fight, dude; I’m just looking out for him. Because I care.”

“Oh, I care too,” Justin replied, flexing his hand deliberately, the cool metal of the chair frame rolling under his palm with the motion. It was soothing, and he focussed on that. “I care about Zach, and his potential, and his future. And about making sure he knows what he needs to do to get there.”

“He’s got a future, dude. A good one. But he shouldn’t have to worry about losing the things he already has along the way.” That was the last thing Gabe said before he turned and loped off on his original tangent, looking back over his shoulder once to give Justin a confused and pensive glare.

Justin watched him go then sat again, resting his elbows on the table. His sketchbook had been on the table as he’d left it while they were talking, his sketch of Zach staring back at him from the open page.  

Now that he’d met the brother, the mythical ‘Shaun’ began to take on new life. Justin already knew he was a writer, that Zach considered him incredibly gifted, that his family was well-off. Adding Gabe into the equation gave him a whole different dimension. If he was anything at all like his younger brother, then Shaun was another California boy, brash and overconfident. He was a successful, experienced older man, apparently. He recognized the dynamic and immediately wished that he didn’t.

Justin realized with a certain amount of chagrin that he’d probably just made life a lot harder for Zach. It was just about the only part of the entire exchange that he regretted.

\--

From: z45892007@calarts.edu

To: justin.taylor@gmail.com

 

WTF did you say to Gabe?

 

From: justin.taylor@gmail.com

To: z45892007@calarts.edu

 

He seems to think I lock you in the studio every night and only let you out for lectures. He ran into me on Sunday and we had a chat. Everything OK?

 

From: z45892007@calarts.edu

To: justin.taylor@gmail.com

 

Oh yeah. Peachy.

\--

“It’s not a bad idea,” Justin frowned at his ceiling, chewing over the new thought.

“It’s a terrible idea,” Daphne countered, typing something at the other end of the phone line. The ticka-ticka of her keystrokes was hypnotic, and Justin closed his eyes and tried to make his shoulders unknot through the sheer power of his mind.

“New York could be really good for him. I don’t think he’s been out of California for more than a few days at a time before, and certainly not to work or really experience the art scene. He’s got so much potential, Daph; you have to see his stuff.”

“Un-hunh,” her voice was muffled for a moment, and when she came back he could hear the warning that had crept in to her tone. “Hooking up with him is one thing – though I thought you’d made up your mind not to be a big old gay homewrecker, which, good for you. Trying to get him to leave everything behind and come hang out in New York? That’s something else entirely.”

“I did it,” he pointed out correctly. “You did it. And it worked just fine.”

“We moved an hour and a half away by air,” Daphne corrected him, “not across the country. And I had a job waiting, and you had... reviews.” She trailed off, not taking the opportunity to poke at him for the impulsive move that had sent him off on his grand adventure on the basis of a single magazine review and a handful of phone numbers. He’d made it work against all odds, dammit, so his own example was hardly the thing to use against him now. “Zach’s got a family. He’s not just going to bail on them.”

“Maybe not,” Justin sighed, opening his eyes again and kicking himself up off the bed to pace the confines of his small bedroom. “But even if he doesn’t, it should be because he chose it. Not because he didn’t think there was any other way.”

“Listen to you, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Daphne laughed at him, and he heard her yawn. “You’re either falling in love with him, or you’re taking this mentor thing really seriously.”

“Shut up,” Justin groaned. “And I’m not in love with him. I’ve never even kissed him. He’s a kid who works for me.” He paused, then made a minor concession. “He’s a friend.”

“OK, sure.” She yawned again, and he heard her push her chair back, the scrape of the legs against her bedroom floor a soft whisper into the phone. “So be a mentor, then, not a parent telling him what’s best. Show him what’s out there, but Justin –“ she paused, then continued with a lighter tone in her voice. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay? Get your ass back here without a broken heart. I can’t cope with four flavours of ice cream taking up all the freezer space again.”

“I promise,” Justin vowed, grinning. “No broken heart. No ice cream overdose. Now go to bed, Daph. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Good night, stupid,” she shot back affectionately.

“Night.”

Justin hung up the phone and draped himself over his desk chair, spinning it in a lazy circle. The TV was blaring something in the suite’s common room, the sound too indistinct down the hallway to make out what was on. He could go hang out with Dom and Calvin, watch whatever crummy movie was playing (as long as it wasn’t _Sharktopus_ again; four times was more than enough), he could find a local bar – a straight bar, of course, since that was all there was – and play ‘spot the gay,’ or he could be a responsible adult, churn through his email like a good boy and go to bed.

The laughter coming from the common room when he opened the door made up his mind for him. Hands in his pockets and a thoughtful look on his face, Justin headed down the hall towards the sound effects, the laughter and the light.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My betas, my darlings, my keepers. [roane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/roane) and [moonbrightnights](http://moonbrightnites.livejournal.com/). The chapter break on this one is totally their fault.

**Chapter 6**

 

Four years was a long time for any relationship. Shaun supposed that it wasn’t technically four years yet – that milestone wouldn’t be until the summer, the night Zach had come back to the beach house door. So it was closer to three years and nine months, right now. Shaun had always mentally rounded it up. It felt better that way.

Four years wasn’t a long time for the relationship that was supposed to be for life, though. In the span of a lifetime, four years was barely enough time to unfold the layers of your lover, to soften doubled walls and defences enough that two men could fit inside.

‘Layers of your lover.’ That was good. He should use that somewhere.

He hadn’t had nearly enough time, yet, to learn everything that he wanted to know about Zach. But he had learned enough to sense when he was losing him.

It wasn’t the long hours, necessarily. Zach had needed to spend long hours at school and on projects before, especially around finals time when so much rode on one exam, one portfolio, one critique. And with the last few weeks of term coming up, and The Assessment (always spoken in capital letters) on the near horizon, and the mural project on top of it all – it was no wonder Zach was gone most of the time. He got that.

It was the distant look in his eyes when Zach _was_ home that bothered him more. The way he barely seemed to register conversation unless it was directed at him, and his name called twice. The way he stared off into the distance with sad eyes and a furrowed brow when he thought no one was looking. The way his kisses had become rote and perfunctory, and how an incoming e-mail beep on his laptop made him glance up at Shaun on the couch and turn his screen away. Just a couple of degrees.

Any one of those things on their own was easy to explain. Together, they were familiar. And thanks to Geoff, his last-but-one, Shaun knew that particular brand of loneliness all too well.

\--

It had been a long two weeks since Gabe had gone home, and the apartment felt larger, but also a lot quieter in his absence. Gabe was a lot like a golden retriever, Zach had decided  years ago. His exuberance was infectious, his loyalty unquestionable, and if he’d been flexible enough, Zach was pretty sure that at some point or another in his life he’d have tried to lick his own balls. Probably in public.

Gabe had made good on his promise of babysitting and kicked Zach and Shaun out of the apartment Sunday evening, which had given them a chance to talk a few things out. Which had been a good deal all around, because Gabe had been crashing on the couch and there was nowhere else for Zach to go if things got out of hand again. Which, for a little while at least, had actually seemed within the realm of possibility.

They had gone for a long walk after a quiet dinner out, the other pedestrians on the busy downtown street passing them by with barely a glance.

“It’s just school. I’ll be fine once it’s all over.” Zach had promised, warding off the conversation he had been sure was coming.

“It’s not fine – you’re not fine. We barely see each other, and when we do we’re at each other’s throats. That’s not what I want, and I know it’s not what you want, so come on. Work with me here.” Shaun reached his hand out toward Zach, dropping it when a large guy in a ripped denim vest shouldered his way between the two of them.

Zach shoved his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans, his shoulders slumped like he was carrying the weight of the world on them again. He stared at his feet when he spoke, not looking up to meet Shaun’s eyes. “I’m just tired, you know? I’m not avoiding you. Or home. It’s just easier to get shit done there, and I feel like I can never get caught up.”

Shaun reached out again, then, laying his palm flat against Zach’s shoulder blade. His hand was warm but didn’t feel particularly reassuring, and there was a wariness in his expression that Zach didn’t know how to fix. “It’ll be over soon,” Shaun had offered finally, a smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I miss you. Cody misses you.” A low blow.

“I know,” Zach replied shortly, anger flaring in his eyes for a second before he stamped it down again, buried it under the guilt and the thought that Shaun was right. “I get it. It’s just a few more weeks.”

Zach had listened more than he’d talked, after that, which was par for the course, then doubled-down on his efforts. He kept to himself at school, rationed his spare minutes like diamonds. He took shortcuts across campus to win himself five extra minutes before class to get prep done, worked his hours on the mural through his lunches rather than joining Callie or John in the cafeteria.

The studio at school had been a sanctuary, a place where the only thing he had to think about was work. He could focus there, sink into the shapes and colours, peripherally aware of Justin’s easy, warm presence on the other side of the small room. He’d tried to carve out some space from the already-crowded apartment to work in the evenings, instead, and only been moderately successful, his sketches and essay notes drifting across the breakfast table and hiding the scratched-up surface under sheaves of cream and grey and white. But it was beyond good to see Shaun’s eyes light up when Zach walked in the door before dinner time, even with his bag loaded down with pieces of projects.

And it was definitely a bonus to be able to reclaim Cody’s bedtime rituals, and the sacred fifteen minutes of comic book reading before lights-out. Not even Shaun’s offers to read classic literature ( _Treasure Island! It’s got pirates!_ ) had ever been able to shake Cody’s devotion to Spiderman, ( _pirates are for babies. They’re even lamer than The Kangaroo. Spiderman could kick Long-John Silver’s butt_ ) much to Zach’s amusement and Shaun’s chagrin.

So if it meant staying up until two or three in the morning to make up the time he’d spent at the dinner table and wrestling Cody into his pajamas _(no, not the red ones, the blue ones. Why don’t they make black ones? Then he could be_ Venom _)_ , or skipping the post-workshop beer-and-complain-a-thons, or trying to keep splatters of paint thinner off the kitchen table instead of letting the jar sit open and easily-reached on the studio shelves already covered in sixteen different layers of hardened goo... he had to believe that it was worth it. That it would all eventually be worth it.

\--

Justin wasn’t sure exactly what had changed, but it felt distinctly like Zach was avoiding him. He flew in and out at top speed every day, weighed down with books and materials, and it was a challenge to get more than a couple of words out of him between classes. So he was mildly surprised, to say the least, when he arrived at the studio Friday afternoon to find Zach there. Justin noticed him through window in the door as he reached for the handle, the strip of glass wide enough to reveal the dark-haired figure slumped over the desk, his head resting in his hands.

He hesitated before opening the door. There was a coffee kiosk in the basement that did brisk trade this time of year, and Zach looked like he could use the help. And maybe it would help smooth over whatever it was that had gone wrong.

By the time Justin returned, Zach had sunk further in his chair, his forehead resting against the desk. Justin sat one of the paper cups down beside his ear, the smell of the strong brew filling the small studio space. He sat back with his own coffee and flashed Zach a smile when he stirred and sat up, his hand groping for the cup beside his head. “Long day?” Justin opened casually, kicking his feet up to prop them on the edge of the table.

“Ugh,” Zach groaned, levering himself up to an upright position and clinging to the cup of coffee like a lifeline. He fumbled with the lid for a moment, popping the tab. “Thanks. Long week. Long month. Long year. Is it graduation yet?”

“Not yet, but there’s light at the end of the tunnel,” Justin replied, relaxing a little. “What are you still doing here? I figured you’d be heading home by now.”

“I was supposed to meet John to go over notes for the workshop critique,” Zach explained, lifting his cup to his lips for a drink. Justin’s attention was caught for a moment – as usual – by the flash of silver from his ring and the string bracelets knotted haphazardly around his right wrist. “But he hasn’t shown. I think he ditched me.”

“I saw him over at the student union on my way here,” Justin said. “He was putting up posters for the career fair.”

“Oh, that thing.” Zach frowned, tipping himself backward in the chair and bracing his feet on the edge of the table in an unconscious copy of Justin’s casual posture. His arms were bare, his tan golden against the white of his tank top, the palm-sized tattoo on his shoulder curling blue lines of fire around the curve of his deltoid. “Yeah; he got suckered into volunteering for that. He’s got a killer crush on one of the girls on the committee.”

“You don’t say,” Justin laughed, totally unsurprised. “Half the committees and organizational groups in the world would fall apart if it weren’t for the drawing-power of sexual tension.” He stopped there, taking the chance to try the coffee. It wasn’t great, but it was caffeine and a couple of levels better than diner sludge, so there was that. “Are you going?” he asked after a moment.

“I should,” Zach admitted, frowning. “I hate those things – trying to pitch myself and my work to a bunch of design sweatshops and t-shirt guys that are mostly just looking for the cheapest students they can get, you know? But some agents will be there and at least a few of them are supposed to be doing portfolio reviews, so I’d better give it a shot.”

“It couldn’t hurt,” Justin replied. He flashed Zach a conspiratorial grin. “Use my code on the office photocopier when you do your samples. I haven’t come close to my quota yet, and it does decent colour repros.”

Zach’s eyes lit up at the offer, and he returned Justin’s smile. “I will. Thanks, man. Those things cost a fortune at the places off campus.” He gave Justin the side-eye after a moment. “Okay. First you bring me coffee, then bribe me with colour copies. What do you want?”

Justin put on his best ‘pure and innocent,’ a look he’d perfected over the years. It was partially spoiled by the grin that kept tugging at the corners of his lips. The utterly sceptical look Zach was directing his way wasn’t helping either.

“Nothing.” He dropped the act and shook his head firmly. “You looked like you could use the coffee, and I wanted an excuse to get one for myself. I have a ridiculous copy allotment that I’m never going to use, and you’re on a tight budget. I just happened to think of it now, so you get the offer instead of Mira or Callie.” Justin paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. “I had some good friends cover my ass a few times when I was in school, and I never had a chance to repay them. Call it... paying it forward.” And that was about as sentimental as he was going to get. “I think the question you should be thinking about is: what do _you_ want? Not a sweatshop or a t-shirt place.” He echoed Zach’s words with a grin. “Then what?”

Zach shrugged, staring over Justin’s shoulder and worrying his lower lip with his teeth as he thought it through. “Realistically? I’d be stupid to turn down anything even remotely art-related that pays, you know? So if some graphics place wants me to do silk screened t-shirts for golf tournaments, hell – it’s better than going back to short-order cooking.” He glanced at Justin, a flicker of wistfulness in his expression now. “Ideally? What you have. Art that people see as art, that they’re willing to pay for and display and talk about. But that’s a long way off, if ever.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Justin pointed out, gesturing at Zach with his coffee cup. “With the right connections, if we get your samples into the right hands, it could happen for you, too. I lucked out. One of those friends I mentioned was a former art teacher; when I knew her, she was working at a gallery. She put my work into a showcase, which got me noticed by the right critics, and I was able to use their reviews to get my foot in the door.”

Zach grimaced. “Which is lucky for you. But unless you run a gallery back in New York that I don’t know about, I don’t think I’m going to be able to follow in your footsteps, oh wise one,” he joked after a second. There was a certain resignation about his eyes that dimmed the light there. Justin wanted it back.

“I don’t run a gallery, but I’ve got one hell of an agent,” Justin said. “I’ve mentioned you to Brenda. She’s willing to look at your stuff, maybe meet with you if she likes what she sees. Give me a copy of your packet when you have it ready, and I’ll send it to her. If she wants to rep you, then you’re already a step ahead.”

“She’s New York-based though, isn’t she?” Justin could practically see the gears turning in Zach’s head at the proposition. “She knows the East Coast galleries. I’d have to travel?”

“I’d love to have you out there for a while,” Justin suggested before he could stop and think about the timing of the offer, whether it was right, or likely to get shot down. He tried to really picture it, now that he’d come out with it; bringing Zach to New York, showing him around the galleries and restaurants and studios, the neighbourhood that had become home to him. Then he tried to imagine Zach moving there, working there, living there, and that was where the image broke down. 

People were shaped by the places that belong to them, that they belong to. Justin had been forged by Pittsburgh’s grey skies, once, and his pulse had beat in time with the rhythm of the music at Babylon. Now New York was part of him, every divot in the sidewalk and hidden alleyways and tunnels beneath it all that carried history and stories of the city like blood pulsing through veins. Nick had described it like that, waxing lyrical one night in bed, and the metaphors had stuck.

And Zach... Zach was surf and sand and the waves crashing up on the beach. He was sea salt and golden and fresh. And while his expression was shuttered more often than not - someone, somewhere, made a mess of things that he had to clean up, Justin thought, and more than once – and he thought he was tough, there was no way he was tough enough.

But then, six years ago, a lot of people would have said the same thing about Justin.

“Or she might know someone in LA who’d be interested,” he hedged. “Either way, the more people who see your work and know your name, the better off you’ll be.”

Zach’s shoulders relaxed at that; they’d made it halfway up to his ears while he was thinking. He drained the last of the coffee from his cup and nodded slowly. “That’s a point,” he conceded. “And as long as there’s email and FedEx, pretty much anything’s possible these days.”

“It’s an offer,” Justin stood, chucking his cup toward the wastepaper basket in the corner. It hit the rim with a metallic clang, then bounced in. “It’ll stay open. I’m heading out to the courtyard for a while; the sun’s actually out and I want to get as much done as I can before it gets dark. You coming?”

“Yeah.” Zach’s answer was slower to come and more thoughtful than usual, and he cast a handful of glances at Justin as he packed his bag. Justin caught his gaze and held it for a moment, a heartbeat, a flush- then broke it, looked away, and headed for the door.

\--

_Poke_

**Ohai**

_What does that even mean?_

**Sound it out. :)**

_Ahhh._

**S’up?**

_Codes wants to go over to Asher’s place tonight – something about a sleepover and a new Xbox. I’m cool with it if you are._

**Im cool. Its Friday, so its not like he has to be up for school.**

_Cool. I’ll let the Kaplans know that we’ll pick Cody up tomorrow am. Gotta run him over with a change of clothes._

**K. Im gonna stay late here then – Im two hours short on the mural this week cuz the rain. Cant ask Justin to lie on the timesht.**

**You there?**

_I’m here. That’s cool. Do what you’ve got to do; I’ll be here when you get home._

\--

Two hours for Zach’s timesheet turned into four – call it an excuse to duck out early next week, he told himself. Sunset had driven them indoors around half past seven, back to canvases and oilcloth and the brilliant artificial lights of the studio. It was so much easier to work here, with all his tools right there at hand, and no need to worry about drops of paint on a floor that was already so splattered with colours from generations of students that it was almost impossible to tell what the linoleum pattern had originally looked like.

Working on the canvas was straining his back a bit, and Zach set his airbrush down and pressed his arms up into a stretch. His shoulders shifted and complained; not badly yet, but a warning of things to come if he didn’t pay attention, so he bent over to hang, letting gravity do some of the work.

“Let’s take a break,” Justin offered, grabbing a rag to wipe some smears of paint off his hands. “You look beat, and I could use some air.” The silver-coloured case that he grabbed from his jacket pocket suggested that he meant exactly the opposite, but when he flashed an infectious and conspiratorial smile at Zach, Zach couldn’t help but grin back.

The air was cool on Zach’s skin when they got up to the roof, and he briefly contemplated running back downstairs to grab his hoodie, the breeze raising goosebumps on his arms. It wasn’t nearly so bad when they settled down behind a vent, though, the raised concrete block acting as a semi-effective windbreaker. It wasn’t bad at all half an hour later, the buzz making his limbs feel warm and heavy, and his brain pleasantly off-line. While it sucked that it took some admittedly very good weed to take the edge off, it was a relief to know that there were still a couple of ways to white-out the stress and the nerves and the constantly-churning mental lists; where do I have to be next? Who wants something now? What did I forget, what’s due next, is it done, who did I let down, when will I have a chance to breathe?

Now. He was breathing now, and the rest was inconsequential. At least until the mellow wore off and the world beckoned again. In. Out. He breathed. Justin was talking to him, laughter on his perfect lips.

“Your turn. I asked the last one.”

“Okay, okay.” That required thinking, something Zach wasn’t particularly proficient at right now. He went for an easy one, lobbed a softball question at goofball over there. “Girls. You ever?”

“One. My friend Daphne.” 

It wasn’t the answer that Zach had been expecting. He’d gathered from other conversations that Justin had known about his sexuality a lot sooner than Zach had, about his own. This confession put a new spin on him.  Zach rolled up onto one shoulder from where he was lying, spread-eagled on the roof, and stole the cigarette from between Justin’s fingers. “Were you dating her?”

“Not a chance. I’d been out for a while. She wanted me to be her first, you know, because we were such good friends. We promised it wouldn’t get weird.” The sharp laugh that followed pretty much said it all.

“Annnnd...” Zach prompted, breathing out and watching the way the smoke shifted and danced in the breeze, before vanishing entirely. He was warm again, the drug curling down into him the way the smoke had curled up.

“It got weird.” Justin laughed, shrugged, rolled up on his elbow to steal the cigarette back. “Of course. But we’re cool now; she’s still my best friend. We share an apartment back home. What about you?”

“One,” Zach admitted, the memories sweet, then bitter, then sweet again. “Tori. She was my girlfriend all through high school. We were together since we were twelve, whatever ‘together’ means for kids. It was just...” he trailed off, trying to find the words to explain it. “It’s what you do, right? You love someone and want to make her happy, and... yeah. Except it didn’t work out that way. I still love her, I always will. It’s just more of a sister-brother thing now. Which is cool.”

Zach folded his arms behind his head and turned to look at Justin through the semi-darkness. The lights from below cast funky shadows over the pair of them, leaving Justin’s face half-hidden in darkness. The red ember of the cigarette moved again; he breathed out.

“How many guys have you been with?” It was technically Justin’s turn to ask a new question now, if they were sticking to the unofficial rules of the game that had begun to gel weeks ago, on a dozen similar nights, but Zach was curious. And besides, Justin had asked him about girls as well, so it was _like_ he’d had a turn.

“I don’t know. Lots. Dozens. Hundreds.” Justin mocked Zach’s incredulous expression, wrinkling his nose and passing the cigarette back as he did so. “I tricked a lot the first few years after I came out. Less now, but sometimes. You didn’t?”

Like he didn’t know. That was more of a challenge than a question, and Zach felt a curl in his belly that wasn’t at all about the weed. “One. Just Shaun.”

“Are you kidding me?” It was Justin’s turn to sound incredulous.

Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe Justin had assumed that he’d... tricked. Slept around. ‘Gotten it out of his system.’ Shaun had said something about that once and Zach had shut him down, hadn’t wanted to hear it, and Shaun’s relieved smile and the eager heat of his mouth had been more than enough to confirm that it had been the right thing to say.

Zach shrugged, and tried to find an answer that would make sense. “I was just getting by, you know? Work, helping my sister out with Cody, same thing every day,” he confessed, the mellow of his buzz fading a little with the intensity of the soul-baring. “So when this huge _awesome_ thing happened to me, something good, something _mine_... I hung on.”

Except that wasn’t entirely true. Like, at all. “Well, no,” he groaned and shook his head. “First, I had the biggest fucking freak-out of all time and screwed it up. Then I went back and fixed it. And now- “ he shrugged, a gesture he wasn’t sure that Justin could see from his vantage point. He could feel Justin looking at him, though, and he realized that his goosebumps were back despite the warmth that was soaking into his bones.

“I dunno. It’s been almost four years. I guess I never really thought about it.”

“Being with someone else?”

“Yeah.” There was something happening, something big and exciting and terrifying. Zach’s pulse was beginning to race, and there was a strange kind of tension between them that was building with the frowning look in Justin’s eyes as their gazes locked.

“What are you thinking about now?” Justin had beat him to it, pushing himself up on his elbow and leaning in, studying Zach’s face like he was looking for something. Looking – and finding? Or not?

Zach’s breath hitched, his thoughts spinning in rapid circles, dizzy and incoherent, stuck between the pull to _know_ , that yearning curiosity, and the certain knowledge that of all the dumb things he’d ever done in his life, this was likely to be one of the worst. “Being with someone else?” he hesitated, repeated Justin’s question, not quite an answer.

Justin leaned in, and kissed him.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my betas [roane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/roane) and [moonbrightnights](http://moonbrightnites.livejournal.com/). All errors are mine, not theirs.

**Chapter 7:**

 

Justin’s lips were moving over his, warm and tentative and with a hint of softness, and Zach splayed his hands out against the hard concrete of the roof and held on. He held on and waited for the rush, for that coiling tendril of desire in his gut to unspool and consume him and fuck up his life.

Justin’s mouth tasted of smoke and musk, dark and sweet, and his lips moved over Zach’s with practised ease. Justin’s hair tickled Zach’s cheek, his palm was hot against Zach’s cheek, and it was simultaneously good and all kinds of wrong. Zach pulled his head back, brought his hands up to press them against Justin’s chest, the cotton warm and soft against his fingers. He pressed him back, away, broke that momentary connection.

Justin took the hint and rolled back to prop himself up on his elbow, the breeze ruffling his hair like unseen fingers. He gave Zach a look – not anger, thankfully; could it actually be _relief_? Relief and a certain kind of distance, as though he’d found the answer to a question that he hadn’t been sure how to ask.

Zach pressed his lips together, tasted Justin there, the last lingering sensation of unfamiliar pressure. And that was the thing. Justin was a hundred good things, and he sure as hell knew how to kiss, but he wasn’t _Shaun._ And this was all too familiar; a reminder of another night, another kiss, another breeze that had played over his skin, another turning point where the choice meant the end of everything he knew. But that was where the similarities stopped. This time, he didn’t have to think about his answer.

Zach shook his head. There was no confusion there anymore, the tumult stopped, his mind calm and still. “I’m not doing this.”

Justin said nothing and Zach pushed on. “If I wanted to fuck around with other guys, I would have. Shaun, Cody – this thing we have – it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He said it with absolute certainty, any lingering questions now resolved. “I’m not going to fuck it up for a... a cheap fling with a _go-go boy_.”

Justin was quiet for a minute. He lay back to pillow his head on his folded arm again as he brought the cigarette to his lips, then breathed out a trailing line of smoke. Zach tensed, sure that he’d screwed this up, killed any hope they’d have of putting a friendship back together from this mess, then-

“I wasn’t cheap,” Justin replied, a broad smile spreading slowly across his face, his eyes lighting up with it, blue and bright and alive.

It took a second for the relief to hit him before Zach burst out laughing. The laughter rocked him, erupting long and clear, pealing out until his sides ached and he had to brush tears from his eyes. Justin was laughing as well, a rich warm sound that wiped any lingering tension away. They lay there side by side for a while after that, chuckling and gasping for breath in turn.

Justin watched the sky for a moment longer, brought the blunt to his lips one last time, and let the smoke spiral upward into the night, his smile wide and bright. He stubbed it out without a word, then turned his head and directed that smile at Zach. Zach waited for the answering flutter of want in his gut, and was beyond relieved to realize that it wasn't there.

Justin rose to his feet, held his hand out to Zach, and Zach grabbed his wrist to use him for leverage. His hand was just a hand; it could have been anyone’s. Second test passed. "Come on,” Justin said. “The studio’s waiting, and we’ve got review on Monday. We’ve wasted enough time."

\--

The hallway was familiar; Shaun had walked this way a dozen times over the past four years. The room number changed but the studios were all basically the same. They were always busy this time of year, no matter the hour, light spilling out from the long windows. Zach’s was... there, music thumping behind the door, some club beat that Shaun couldn’t place, the bass line strong enough to vibrate in his hand when he grabbed the door handle. It wasn’t Zach’s usual playlist; didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was here and Shaun was here and they had an empty house tonight, and if he had to drag Zach home by the short and curlies, he’d do it. Even if it was just to give him a break from the insane hours, just once.

He hadn’t expected Zach to have company.

The studio space had been entirely taken over by a canvas practically as big as a wall, an eight-by-eight monstrosity that was covered with streaks and swaths of colour. Justin was shirtless, Zach in his white tank top, their bodies covered in streaks and drops of paint, the same colours that repeated themselves on the more permanent canvas in front of them, accidental by-product of the motion and the fervour of their act of creation. Blond hair and dark, pale and golden tanned, there was so little about them that matched. But working together like that, they looked more alike than anything. It was something in their hands, in the intensity of expression, in the way the drive to _create_ was taking over both of them completely.

Justin was halfway up a stepladder, muscles playing under his pale skin as he reached up to stroke his paint-laden brush along the canvas. The light hit a glint of gold at his right nipple, a piercing there rather than the ink that marked Zach’s skin in a handful of places. Zach looked up and said something as he reloaded his airbrush, his eyes alight in that way that Shaun had thought reserved for himself alone, and other – though no less intimate – circumstances. Justin glanced down and laughed in response, his entire face lighting up with an impossible smile that momentarily transformed him into an utterly different person.

Shaun saw what Zach must have seen; he had always known what Justin would see in Zach. But to see them both like this, the electric charge that thrummed between them, the look of surprise and sudden wariness and _guilt_ in their faces when they realized he was there, turned to face him, when Zach reached out to turn the music off – 

He had always hated clichés, rolled his eyes at the trite formation of stock phrases and overused motifs so endemic to writing, especially in the first draft novels he edited at work. But there was truth in them, sometimes, or they wouldn’t be clichés. And so the truth of the matter was, when he looked and he _saw_ , he felt the clench in his gut and he felt his heart break. And he could worry about his word choice some other time.

“Zach?”

\--

The drive back to the apartment was long and sullen, Zach’s hastily-packed bag dumped in the back seat and already spilling papers and markers across the floor. He glanced at Shaun a few times, tense in the driver’s seat, and said nothing. Shaun hadn’t said much of anything either, not since his appearance at the studio door, muttering something about giving Zach a lift home and maybe he shouldn’t have bothered. Zach had made his rapid-fire goodbyes to Justin and they’d left, leaving the third man alone in the bright studio, paint still slick and wet on the canvas they’d been sharing.

“So that was the infamous Justin Taylor.” Shaun started talking as he pulled into their parking space at the apartment, turned off the engine. He was pretending to be casual but he was looking at Zach like he could peel away the layers of skin and bone and see right into his brain. “You guys have gotten close.”

“He’s been cool,” Zach deflected, his chest constricting with the tension. But there was nothing to be tense about. There was no way Shaun could know about what had happened – what had _nearly_ happened – and nothing had come of it anyway. Or ever would. He’d made sure of that.

He realized that he was picking at the loose threads on the knee of his jeans and balled his hand up to force himself to stop. “He’s offering me my big break, Shaun. He talked to his agent about me, she wants to see my work. If I can get representation, it would open up a whole new set of opportunities for me. For _us_.”

Shaun’s voice was rough when he replied, his jaw set. “Is that all he’s offering?”

It was out now, Shaun’s suspicion, and Zach recoiled. That wasn’t fair; the guilt wasn’t _fair_. He’d done nothing wrong, not really, had stopped things before they got out of hand. Whether he should have stopped them long before that was a different question entirely. “Yes, fuck! That’s all!” Zach shook his head and groaned, leaned his head back against the headrest of his seat. “You think we’re getting it on? Because it’s not like that.”

“Funny, because from where I was standing, that’s what it looked like.”

“Jesus, Shaun; he’s my mentor, that’s _all_.”

Except there had been a moment, tonight, where he had thought _maybe._ And Shaun, who had for a while seemed to be able to read the lines and quirks of Zach’s face, every shift in his eyes – Shaun looked at him, and he knew. Somehow he _knew_ and his blue eyes – not the same blue as Justin’s, but better, deeper, more because they were the colour of the sky above the water and so warm with love – they got cold and grey and Zach’s world wasn’t safe anymore.

When Shaun spoke again, that coldness had made its way into his voice and Zach felt the walls slamming up. “We made promises, Zach. And we meant them. At least _I_ meant them. So if you’re screwing around with Taylor-”

“OK, yeah,” Zach shot back; the hazard of loving a writer was that they knew words and how to wound with them. Too fucking efficiently. “Fine. You’re right. Happy now? Justin came on to me tonight. But I said no, Shaun. I turned him down. Because of you.”

“Oh fuck that!” Shaun’s hand clenched on the steering wheel, his knuckles momentarily white with the strain. “So now I’m holding you back from what you really want?”

“That’s not what I said!” Zach unbuckled his seatbelt and twisted so that he could face Shaun, rather than talk past him out the window. “You’re freaking out over _nothing_. This is such bullshit! Maybe I _should_ go to New York with him, if this is what you’re going to be like.” It was out before he could stop it, words meant to hurt, and he regretted it the minute he said it. “Shit!” Zach hissed, slamming his hand into the dashboard, the sound of the hit painfully loud in the small space, his palm burning with the sting.

Shaun’s expression had darkened, a layer of pain behind the anger that was like a punch in the gut to even think about for too long. He turned in his seat to face Zach, his hands raised in disbelief. “So that’s it? Just pick up and move east and get on with your life? Is that all this was to you? A pit stop during school, somewhere for you and Cody to live until something better came along?”

Zach’s heart pounded in his ears, a violent, crashing surf, and he couldn’t find words, couldn’t figure out what to say to stop this roller coaster they were somehow on. _You’re going to fuck this up. Right now. There’s no other way this can go._ “I can’t fucking believe you, Shaun. Why the hell would you think that?”

“Give me a reason not to!” Shaun threw back at him, and the tension in the car reached unbearable levels. One of them was going to break, in that claustrophobic space, break and do or say something that could never be taken back – if they hadn’t reached that point of no return already.

“Fuck this,” Zach wrenched his door open and stumbled out, sucked in the cooler night air. The fresh air was like a slap to his face and he straightened, turned, shook his head and rubbed his face with his hands. “Fuck _everything_ about this!” And not looking where he was going, not _caring_ where he was going, he wrapped his arms around his chest and stormed off into the night.

\--

The club was packed, no surprise for a Friday night, and Justin wove through the crowd with practised ease. He’d taken off for the dorms – and to beg Dom for his car keys – not long after Shaun and Zach’s hasty exit. The hour-long drive down to West Hollywood had given him time to think, for the cool night air to clear his head. And now he was well on his way to muddling it up again. He’d have to stop drinking at some point soon, give himself time to sober up, or he’d have to leave the car and take one hell of an expensive cab ride back to Valencia.

But not yet. The night was, after all, still young. And so was he.

Justin got the bar and elbowed his way in, then took a minute to scan the crowd with a speculative eye. He was being scanned right back, from a few different directions, more of the glances approving than not. He didn’t return any of the smiles; not yet. He needed another drink first, before he went looking for the right distraction.

Kissing Zach tonight had been a mistake, but at the same time it had been inevitable. And now they knew, and now they could get on with things – not be pretending it had never happened, but by being glad that it did. Because against all odds, despite the way they worked together, flowed together, seemed to fit together, kissing him had just felt wrong. There should have been more heat than there was, but it felt almost like kissing a brother, pleasant and neutral and sweet. He’d half-expected some kind of sign, relief for that ache that had become a quiet, constant undercurrent the last few months. And it hadn’t happened. Whatever he wanted, whatever it was that he _needed_ , it wasn’t Zach.

In a lot of ways, and for a lot of very sensible reasons, that was a very good thing. It did, however, leave him without company tonight, and that restless itch was back.

The bartender interrupted Justin’s wandering thoughts and Justin ordered absently, his attention elsewhere. His drink materialized at his elbow after a moment and he pounded it back, startled when the taste flooded his mouth. Bourbon. He’d asked for tequila... hadn’t he? Justin paused, rewound the last couple of minutes in his mind. No. The bartender had it right. It figured, somehow, that romantic disillusionment would bring Brian to mind, however subconsciously.

That was hardly fair, though- Justin shut off the stream of thought that was leading him back around to brooding and even minor self-recrimination. He was here to have some fun, to find himself some company, to take the edge off a disappointment that both cut deeper and not as deeply as it should. The drink burned warm in his gut and he stepped away from the bar, headed back to the dance floor.

The heady smell of sweat and a dozen mingled colognes hit him as he wove his way into the press of bodies, some half-naked, all, at this point, beautiful. The DJ spun up another song and the floor seemed to vibrate, send shock waves up through him, and Justin closed his eyes for a moment, raised his arms, gave himself over to it, to the pulse and the promise. There was no glitter – there really should be glitter on a night like this – but pretty boys danced on platforms and on the balconies, strobes flashed across the crowd, falling there on perfect abs, here on taut arms, on faces turned up to the lights. And it was close enough to home.

A hand slipped over his shoulder, a suggestion in it, and Justin opened his eyes. The blond man dancing beside him had the body of an Olympian, muscles on muscles, and he cocked his head in obvious invitation. Justin hesitated for a moment, shook his head; a split-second decision. _Not you. You’re not who I need tonight._ The Adonis moved on with a shrug.

The music changed, another song, and a handful of dancers moved off the floor in a cluster, opening up some space. Justin looked up out of reflex, looked over, and liked what he saw. Dark hair cut to fall over his forehead, lean hips and strong shoulders set off by the sleeveless shirt he was wearing. It was hard to tell if he was tanned, given the lighting, but Justin suspected that he was. The easiest way to find out, of course, would be to get him naked.

He looked up, then, caught Justin’s eye with a slow and lazy smile, and sauntered out in response to the silent invitation. The trick was taller than Justin had first realized – Zach was only a couple of inches taller than Justin, and hadn’t he been subconsciously looking for... no. He’d been looking for _this_. He felt his breath catch in his throat a little when he had to look up just that little bit higher again.

The trick – Jason? Mason? – it was hard to tell over the music, even with his lips close enough to brush against Justin’s ear, to feel his breath warm on the side of his neck – he drew in close, rested his hands on Justin’s hips, pulled in against him. The rest was instinct, the way their bodies fit was familiar (but not quite, not exactly right), and Justin was semi-hard by the time the song ended and the next one spun up. And when Mason (Grayson?) lightly raked his teeth along Justin’s jawline, splayed his hands possessively over Justin’s pecs, stomach, hips, and suggested his apartment ( _walking distance, they don’t have a back room here_ ), Justin agreed without a second thought.

\--

The clock on his phone read 10:47, a disconcerting number. Zach was sure he’d been out walking for longer than half an hour, wrapped in his hoodie, pacing the quiet streets of their neighbourhood. He hadn’t counted the number of blocks he’d walked, head down and arms folded in front of him, holding in the feelings, holding off the cold. The warmth of the hallway of their building wasn’t doing much to fix the chill he felt deep in his bones. That had nothing at all to do with the weather.

Zach paused before putting his key in the lock, his hand on the doorknob. Cody was at a friend’s tonight; there was nothing to stop Shaun from leaving, from walking away. Their car had been in the lot; that was a sign of hope. He clung to that for reassurance – _I haven’t screwed this up beyond repair, not yet ­_ – and tried to ignore it at the same time, it and the swell of nerves that turned his stomach upside down. Time to face him. He was past the time in his life where sleeping in the car to avoid people seemed like a good idea.

He closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. He turned the key and stepped inside.

The apartment was mostly dark, only a lamp on in the living room to provide any sign of life. Shaun was there, half in shadow, sprawled out on the couch. Zach thought for a minute that he was asleep, had fallen asleep like that, with one arm dangling down, his knuckles brushing the floor. But his eyes were open and he was staring up at the ceiling, and he turned his head to look at the door when Zach let it close softly behind him, then pushed himself up to sitting.

He looked exhausted, alone and so desperately sad that it was all Zach could do not to drop to his knees there and beg forgiveness for something he hadn’t really done; to do anything, _say_ anything to make it all better again. He hovered in the doorway for a minute, uncertain and torn, toeing the carpet as he tried to make sense of his thoughts.

Zach realized that he was playing nervously with his ring, twisting it compulsively on his finger. He dropped his hands, took a few steps into the room until he was within the pool of light cast from the lamp. Shaun was waiting for him to speak first, watching his cautious approach with uncertainty.

“Shaun-“ Zach’s voice was unsteady when he started to speak, but he got stronger as he pushed through the nerves, pushed through to the heart of it. “I know you don’t believe me right now, and maybe I haven’t done enough recently to prove it, but you’re the one I love. The only guy I’ve been with. The only one I _want_ to be with. The one I’ve made a life with. I don’t want to be anywhere else but here, or with anyone else but you.”

Please, let him believe it. To have come this far, and to lose everything now- Zach moved closer as Shaun pulled his legs in underneath him, sat cross-legged on the couch.

“Zach…” There was a warning in his voice, one Zach hadn’t heard in a long time. He held his breath, waited- “I want to trust you, I want to believe you, God knows-” Shaun stopped talking again, old hurt in his eyes, then shook his head. “I want to trust that you would never do that to me. To us. But when I saw you there tonight, and the way you looked together-“

Words were going to fail him, words were going to be wrong no matter how much time he had to try and figure the right ones out. And he didn’t _have_ time. Zach took two more steps, closed the last distance between them, and reached out to take Shaun’s face between his hands. Like he’d done before, like he’d done so many times since, he reached out, he leaned down, he kissed Shaun. 

And this kiss was right.

Shaun resisted, pulled back a little, but Zach followed, slid his knees wide and then onto the couch to straddle Shaun’s legs, pushed his mouth against Shaun’s, parted his lips and sucked Shaun’s lower lip in, just enough. He kissed him with every word he couldn’t find and every colour he couldn’t name and then, oh thank whatever God there might be, Shaun’s arms slid around his waist and his lips parted just a little and Shaun was kissing him back.

Shaun was kissing him back and leaning forward to crush their chests together and his teeth grazed Zach’s lower lip and bit down, just enough to hurt, and his hands were travelling up Zach’s back, under his hoodie and tank top and splaying out flat against his skin. And this was where he fit, and _God_ Zach had been a _moron_ to even imagine that anything could be better than this.

His lungs ached and Zach broke away for a moment, kept his fingers laced behind Shaun’s head to hold him in place. He dipped his head and kissed along Shaun’s jaw, his earlobe, paused to whisper just one word, an emphatic promise, a pledge and solemn vow. “ _Never._ ”

And were Shaun’s eyes wet? Zach pressed his forehead tightly against Shaun’s, held him close, made a mental note to tease him mercilessly about that later. Because he didn’t give a shit – they were going to have a ‘later.’   

Shaun pulled his hands out from under Zach’s shirt, and Zach made a soft sound in his throat at the loss. He relaxed again when Shaun stroked his hands up Zach’s sides, cupped his face, pulled Zach in for another kiss, another furious connection of teeth and lips and tongues that left Zach’s mouth feeling gloriously bruised and swollen, the sharp prickles of the stubble along Shaun’s jaw leaving Zach’s skin scratched and raw. Shaun’s voice was raw as well, and he cleared his throat when he tried to speak. “You and Cody are the best things that have ever happened to me, Zach. I can't let you walk away. I won’t.”

Zach shook his head, as much as Shaun’s warm grip on him would allow. “I swear; I’m not going anywhere.”

\--

“Do it, yes, god- “ Justin arched his back, pressed back against the slick fingers inside of him, ground up against Mason as he twisted his hand a little, scissored his fingers, opened Justin up. Justin grabbed at the dark sheets already twisted around his knees, clenched his fingers around the damp fabric, silk-slick, moaned at the long slide and emptiness as Mason pulled his fingers out. He hung his head for a second where he was, on hands and knees, tried to catch his breath, the only respite he got before he felt the pressure – so good – and the familiar sensation of slicked-up latex pressing at his entrance.

Mason wasn’t much of a talker, not once they’d gotten back to his apartment anyway, which was frankly for the best. Without the voice, Justin could almost imagine he was somewhere else, with someone else, a  memory – he was breached, split open, and he shouted out with it even as his body relaxed and was filled, filled entirely, the stretch and burn and _oh god too much_ fading in seconds to be replaced with _fuck yes more_.

A hand wrapped itself in Justin’s hair and pressed his head down towards the bed, possessive, controlling, rough against the skin at the back of his neck, hot breath and teeth on his shoulders. Now a hand on his cock, wrapping around, claiming him, counter-pressure to the roll-snap thrusts that were striking home, sending electric sparks through every nerve ending. Justin thrust up into the slick hand, rocked back desperately onto the cock that was driving into him, buried his face in the pillow and for just a second, just one, imagined long fingers laced through his where they clutched and grabbed and tangled in the sheets-

He came with that, in an instant, stronger than anything he’d felt in a long time. He came and shuddered and cried out, arching his head back, fire in his veins and behind his closed eyes and spilling out of him across Mason’s hand. 

It was only a minute longer until Mason came, Justin still riding the aftershocks of his own pleasure. He felt Mason’s body tense above him, teeth scraping along the back of his neck; the swell and pause and shudder, his arms braced now on either side of Justin’s head, strong and lean and tanned. He groaned as he rolled off and slipped out, and Justin, empty now, collapsed onto his front. He lay there for a moment, collecting himself, while Mason disposed of the condom and flopped onto his back. 

“You are _amazing_ ,” the wrong voice said. Justin hesitated before he turned over, before he smiled.  

“You too.”

\--

Zach had ended up going somewhere after all, but only as far as the bedroom and it had been Shaun pulling him there, the trail of clothes left in the hall behind them a testament to the haste with which they’d stripped each other down. And now they were back in almost the same position, Shaun braced against the headboard of their bed, Zach straddling his hips, no barriers between them at all.

Zach’s skin was slick against his chest, sweat stinging in Shaun’s eyes, Zach’s hips all angles and muscle under Shaun’s hands where he gripped them. Zach was riding him, so fucking sweet, his hands grabbing on to the top of the headboard for leverage, pulling up and then that slick-slow descent, until Shaun was deep inside, could feel Zach’s heartbeat everywhere around him, his own racing to keep time with it.

Another slow rise, another excruciating fall; Shaun needed more, needed faster, deeper, _now,_ but Zach had been the one to push him back this time, been the one to take over, set the pace. Shaun grabbed at Zach’s hips, pawed at them, reached between their bodies to wrap his hand around Zach’s cock, slick at the tip with pre-come and hard and so fucking perfect. Shaun stroked tightly; Zach’s head tipped back and he groaned aloud, snapping his hips faster now, matching Shaun’s pace. The muscles along his neck needed to be sucked and Shaun lunged forward to slide his tongue along the taut lines, to suck and bite and leave red welts on Zach’s golden skin that marked him. _Mine._   _Mine. Mine._

Shaun thrust up into the roll of Zach’s hips, matching his movements, rocking deeper, _yes, just like that, yeah I know you like it like that, babe please_ God please _-_

He was so close, could feel Zach there with him, the ragged mess of his breathing and the change in his rhythm that meant he was there, right on the edge. Zach tipped his head back down and opened his eyes. He opened those spectacular blue-green eyes and caught Shaun’s gaze and they were breathing into each other and staring into each other and Shaun felt Zach’s cock thicken in his hand, just a little, and he stroked a little faster, held on a little tighter, thrust up, in, _through_ and he was _gone_. Zach’s come was spilling hot over his hand and he was squeezing Zach’s hip with his other hand, maybe hard enough to leave a bruise, and he was shuddering and shaking through his own orgasm and he didn’t fucking care at _all_.

Because Zach’s eyes were still open, still locked on his and Shaun decided – no, he remembered, because this thought wasn’t new – that Zach was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “I love you,” Shaun managed once he remembered how to form words again. He wiped his hand on the sheets and then skimmed them both along Zach’s sides, his arms, his shoulders, all of him slick with sweat and made to fit Shaun perfectly. “I love you so much.”

And even before he heard Zach’s echoing answer, felt Zach’s palms cup his face, Zach’s fingers curling into his hair, he knew what it would be. Because come hell or high water, they belonged to each other again.

\--

Justin had dozed off somewhere in the afterglow, and so had the man who had brought him home. It was still dark outside when he opened his eyes though, which meant he hadn’t accidentally spent the night. Justin slipped out of the bed, the sheets spilling onto the floor, and looked around for his clothing. The half-broken streetlight outside the window was a little help, the bedroom snapping in and out of focus as the light dimmed then brightened again in unsteady beats.

He was unsettled, and it wasn’t because of Zach. Or because of anything Mason had done, or not done – he’d been good, really; better than a lot of tricks he’d picked up in the past. But even so, even through the drinks and the sex-haze and all, Justin’s mind had been a thousand miles away.

Where the hell had that all bubbled up from? Brian was in his past, and would stay there. Justin found his briefs and hauled them on angrily; his jeans followed after a moment. There was no reason to expect that Brian would still be holding a torch for Justin after three years of silence. If he had been, he knew damn well how to use a phone. Or email. Fuck, if anyone in the world could find a surviving _carrier pigeon_ when he needed one, it would be Brian Kinney _._ No, by now their relationship – quasi, untraditional, whatever – was a fond memory. If that.

It was obvious.

So why was Justin trying so hard to convince himself of that?

He hauled his shirt on over his head and checked to make sure that his wallet and keys were still in his pockets. Good. Something moved behind him on the bed, and Justin half-turned in the flickering orange light to see Mason sitting up, running his hand through his dark hair to push it back off his face. “Taking off?”

“Yeah,” Justin replied, hesitating. “I’ve got things to do tomorrow.” He made a snap decision then, hasty and meant to prove a point.

There was a pen on the bedside table, hooked into a book of Sudoku puzzles, and Justin nabbed it, then grabbed Mason’s arm and grinned. He got a confused look back in response, until he’d scrawled his name and number along the smooth skin of Mason’s inner arm. “Justin Taylor,” he introduced himself properly. Last names. “I’m in town for another month or so. Call me sometime.” He leaned in, and kissed Mason on the mouth. 

And as for why the words ‘so there’ seemed to linger in his head as he left? That, he didn’t particularly care to analyze.

\--

Shaun’s t-shirt, his own boxers- Zach grabbed the couple of pieces of clothing on his way back to the bedroom from the bathroom, tossed them in the vague direction of the laundry basket, and collapsed onto the bed in a heap. The rest could wait. Shaun reached out to pull him into the circle of his arms and Zach let him, happily, nuzzling in. He caught a hint of the smell of soap, mouthwash mint, the vaguely pine-ish scent of his deodorant, all the little cues that made up _Shaun_. There was a pause, a hitch in Shaun’s breath, a moment where it could all become awkward again. Zach slipped his hand around to Shaun’s waist, that spot he’d discovered ages ago where Shaun was ticklish-

“You shit!” Shaun yelped when Zach skidded his nails over his back, just there, and he rolled, grabbed Zach’s arm, pinned him down. Then Shaun was tickling him back and they were wrestling on the bed, all hands and awkward limbs and elbows. Shaun had the advantage of muscle mass and managed to get Zach mostly pinned, straddling Zach’s chest to keep him down. Zach pulled his arms in to protect his sides, twisted away from Shaun’s fingers, finally cried “Uncle, alright, damn it, _uncle,_ ” laughing and breathless. Shaun collapsed down beside him, grinning wide, their legs tangled together.

“So-“ Shaun began, the laughter fading a little. He laid a hand possessively on Zach’s hip and Zach ran his hand up Shaun’s forearm, keeping the connection. “Tell me about New York. What was that all about?”

Zach frowned, looked away, reluctant to open that can of worms. But he’d done it to himself; he’d been the one who’d brought up the offer in the first place. And talking was easier than fighting. Mostly. “Justin invited me. He didn’t say when; just a general thing, you know? Come to New York, meet his agent, tour some places where he’s had shows. See if any of his contacts like my portfolio.”

Shaun stroked Zach’s side, his eyes following the movement of his hand. “Not that I don’t think you’re brilliant – you _know_ I do. And if you get an agent, and a show in New York instead of LA, we’ll go out there for however many weeks you need. We’ll make it work.” The ‘but’ was coming; wait for it-

“But are you sure that he wasn’t promising things just to get you into bed?” There it was.

Zach bristled, then forced himself to let go of the automatic defensive reaction. He flopped onto his back, the reassuring weight of Shaun’s leg still looped possessively over his thighs. “Yeah, I’m sure. He’s not like that. He wasn’t planning out some grand seduction; if he was, he’s shit at it,” Zach laughed, trying to convince Shaun without having any real evidence to the contrary except his own gut feeling. “The work stuff is entirely separate. He’s trying to help.”

Shaun propped himself up on one elbow and stroked his hand down Zach’s stomach, traced the jutting angle of his hipbone with two fingers. “And to think that at the beginning of the term you were convinced that he was Satan incarnate.” His voice was dry, bordering on sarcastic.

Zach locked his hands behind his head and pillowed his head on them. He shook his head. “I was wrong,” he admitted. “It’s been known to happen, you know,” he joked, trying to keep the mood light. “He’s cool. No, seriously,” Zach was pushing his luck, he knew, trying to convince Shaun to relax about Justin, but if he could just make him see… “He’s been through a lot, you know? And I don’t think he lets people in much. He doesn’t like them to see what he’s really thinking. But once you get to know him, he’s a good guy.”

Shaun gave Zach that Look, the one that meant he was seriously sceptical but processing, his lips all pressed together and one eyebrow up. “Hunh. Sounds vaguely familiar, don’t you think?” He replied after a minute or so had ticked by. And one corner of his mouth quirked up in a small smile.  

Zach rolled his eyes, more relieved than anything else. “Whatever.” He stretched, rolled onto his side to face Shaun again and propped his arm on the pillow. “You need to meet him. Not for thirty seconds in the studio – I mean actually talk to him. Get to know him. We should invite him over for dinner,” he suggested impulsively.

And the look he got back from Shaun this time was a lot heavier on the ‘sceptical’ than it was on the ‘processing.’ “You’re kidding, right? You’ve _got_ to be kidding.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My betas [roane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/roane) and [moonbrightnights](http://moonbrightnites.livejournal.com/) have saved my neck on this one. Especial thanks to roane for adverb patrol, and Moon for keeping everybody in character, by hook, crook and threats against my life. XD

  **Chapter 8**

“Tell me you’re joking.”

Justin stared at Zach in utter disbelief, and shook his head. They were alone in the classroom for the moment, in that lull before the master class began to fill, and Zach’s offer hung there in the otherwise silent air. “You want me to come over and hang out with you and your boyfriend? That’s the sort of thing that ends in bloodshed, or an episode of Jerry Springer.”

“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating just a little?” Zach levelled a stare at Justin, then turned to keep unpacking his bag. He rested his portfolio case haphazardly against his easel and grabbed for his pencils. “And I’m not inviting you to come over and ‘hang out.’ I want your opinion on some of the stuff I’m working on for my assessment. My boyfriend just happens to cook a fucking awesome steak. Besides, Shaun already agreed.”

Justin blinked at Zach, at a bit of a loss for words. He tried to imagine the fallout if he’d invited Ethan and Brian to have dinner together, either before _or_ after… except he hadn’t needed to, had he? Brian had jumped that gun for him and infused it with his own special brand of proprietary weirdness. Maybe there was something to the straightforward nature of Zach’s suggestion. “How did you manage that?” he asked, curious. “Is he planning to exact painful revenge once I’m within arm’s reach?”

“I can be convincing,” Zach said. “Look. You come over, he’ll see you’re not some crazed Casanova, or planning to pack me in your luggage when you go back to New York, and then we can all get on with things.”

Justin toyed with the idea as he bent to unpack his gear, a handful of other students trickling in to the studio space. If you were a rip-the-band aid-off kind of person, it probably wasn’t a _terrible_ plan. Barring, naturally, all of the things that could go ridiculously wrong.

“If I’m Casanova, that’d make you Bettina, wouldn’t it? I think you’d make a lovely renaissance maiden,” he taunted Zach rather than make a decision, setting his sketchbook down on the chair behind him. But where was his pencil case? The satchel wasn’t that big; he shouldn’t be able to lose something like that in there. Unless he’d left it in the dorm – dammit.

“Fuck you, and your ‘renaissance maidens,’” Zach said.

“Fuck yourself,” Justin replied, now utterly distracted. He knelt and started to unpack, found the case squished underneath a book he’d been meaning to bring back to the campus library for days now. Victory! And he apparently really needed to clean out his bag.

“I’m pretty sure that’s physically impossible,” Zach was saying as Justin stood up again.

Justin raised an eyebrow, and smirked.

“... _No_.”

Justin laughed. “A friend of mine ran a porn site for a while. You’d be surprised.”

Zach paused, then shook his head. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“What conversation?” Mira dropped her patchwork bag on the empty chair on Zach’s other side, and waved cheerfully at Justin as she spoke. “Morning!”

John had come in with her and he stopped to grab Zach’s collar and pull it back with one casual finger. “Since when do you wear dress shirts? Got a job interview, you lucky bastard?” Zach choked as he was dragged backwards a little, and he thrust an elbow at John to free himself. John had pulled his shirt far enough to reveal a collection of red and pink marks that the collar had been hiding, bruises marking the skin of Zach’s neck and shoulder.

“Ooh, Shaun-hickeys,” John taunted, letting go and jumping out of reach of Zach’s elbow. “A different kind of lucky. When do you have time for a sex life, with our workload?”

“Stress release and endorphins can be good for the creative process,” Mira said, grinning at the men. Zach ducked his head and adjusted his shirt back up around his neck, and Justin gave up on fighting the smile.

John waggled his eyebrows at Mira lasciviously. “How about helping me out with _my_ creative process?”

She rolled her eyes heavenward as though looking for guidance, and curled her lip. “I’d rather die celibate.”

John sighed, sagged his shoulders dramatically, mimed stabbing himself in the breast with a non-existent dagger, then slunk towards the empty easel on Justin’s left.

**\--**

He’d caved, of course. Zach had known he would, probably right from the start, and now Shaun was stuck having his boyfriend’s “mentor” over for what was supposedly a working evening, plus dinner. He figured he could be excused for not feeling enthusiastic about the whole thing. But for Zach’s sake...

The apartment buzzer sounded and Cody vaulted off the couch, leaving math worksheets strewn in his wake. Anything was better than homework, and being tall enough to use the intercom panel properly was still a novelty. Shaun watched for a moment to make sure he was answering properly, then headed back to the bedroom to find Zach.

The bed was covered with paper, with Zach cross-legged in the middle of the avalanche. Shaun recognized a number of the sketches and prints that he’d seen Zach working on over the last few weeks, and a portfolio case lay open on the floor beside the bed. Zach was sorting pages, slapping different coloured post-it notes on what looked to Shaun to be random selections, but the system seemed to make sense to him. Whatever worked, he supposed.

“Hey,” Shaun waited for a second until Zach registered his presence. He hated to interrupt him when he was working; there was a sweet intensity about Zach’s expression when he was lost in thought that still made something turn sideways in Shaun’s chest. “Justin’s here; Cody just buzzed him in. You coming?”

Zach nodded, distracted, and grabbed for Shaun’s arm to help extract himself from the middle of the mess. Shaun grabbed his arm and pulled, only managing a ghost of a smile at Zach’s laughter as he half-fell off the bed and stumbled toward the door.

\--

It was perfectly normal to be a little tense about introductions, given the circumstances, Justin told himself in the hallway outside Zach’s – Zach and _Shaun_ ’s – apartment, while waiting to be let in. This was supposed to be a casual thing, so he hadn’t really dressed up, but he did have a bottle of wine with him that he couldn’t stop thinking of as a ‘peace offering,’ no matter how ridiculous and vaguely demeaning that would have sounded, spoken aloud.

Zach was the one who opened the door, thank goodness, though Justin could see a boy hovering around just behind him with the same dark hair and fair eyes. That had to be Cody. Justin said his hellos and handed over the bottle to Zach. And then the taller man appeared from around the corner...

“Shaun, Justin. Justin, Shaun,” Zach introduced them hurriedly. Justin had seen Shaun before, of course, at the studio last week. But Shaun and Zach had both been flustered, and there had been tension bouncing between them that had made social conversation utterly impossible. Justin extended his hand with a small smile. Shaun’s grip was firm, his hand broad and cool, and his expression was similarly strained-but-cordial. He was undeniably good-looking (if you went for the classic all-American type), blue-eyed, square-jawed and broad-shouldered.

“Hello,” Justin began, taking his hand back and pondering his options for conversation – there was ‘awkward,’ ‘slightly more awkward’ and ‘let me chew through my restraints and get the hell out of here.’ He bit the metaphorical bullet and went for the gold. “It’s good to meet you.” Mostly. “We didn’t have a chance for proper introductions the other night.”

Shaun stiffened a little, nodded with his reply. “Yeah. Yeah, that could have gone better,” he admitted, glancing at Zach for a moment. There was a wordless conversation between them that only took a second, then Shaun turned back. “Anyway,” he continued, gesturing for Justin to come inside. “Come on in. This is Cody.” Shaun dropped his hand and ruffled the boy’s hair, even as Cody squirmed out from under the gesture.

Justin crouched down a little to get even in height with the kid and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.” He got a reasonable handshake in return, letting go as he straightened up.

“Go put your homework away, Codes,” Zach told him. He handed the bottle of wine to Shaun, who disappeared back the way he’d come, one final unreadable look fired over his shoulder at Zach. “In your backpack this time,” Zach added as an aside to Cody, then gestured between Justin and the apartment. “So, yeah. This is it. Home, sweet home.”

The apartment wasn’t bad at all, considering what prices had to be like around here. It was larger than the place Justin shared with Daphne back in NYC, but that was understandable. The furniture was… ‘lived in,’ would be a good description; not broken, or ratty, but obviously older and used. The tall windows and sliding glass door let in a lot of light, and the handful of pencils and old sketchbook sitting on top of a bookcase beside it suggested that Zach took advantage of the location.

A couple of transformers lurked under the coffee table, and that small, real sign of the family life that grounded Zach so well was the last piece to fall neatly into place.

“It’s nice,” Justin offered, and he meant it.

\--

Shaun was opening the wine when Zach stepped into the kitchen, a frown furrowing his brow. Zach ran his hand up Shaun’s back, palm flat against the smooth cotton of his shirt, feeling the tension locked in Shaun’s hunched shoulders. “You ok?” Zach asked, rubbing his thumb over the base of Shaun’s neck.

“Yeah.” Shaun answered, struggling a little bit with the cork. “Yeah, I’m fine. Careful-” he moved his elbow and turned a bit to get out of the way, and Zach stepped back to grab Cody’s soda from the fridge – his official reason for following Shaun. There was a slight squeal of metal and a soft popping sound; Zach closed the fridge and glanced over to see Shaun lifting the uncorked bottle to sniff the contents and look at the label.

“Really?” Zach said, and would have said more, reaching around him to grab a glass from the cupboard, but Shaun shook his head.

“Really. Drop it.” Shaun poured a glass and tasted it, then looked at the bottle again with greater interest. “He’s got good taste in wine,” Shaun conceded. “I’ll give him that.”

Zach slipped his arm around Shaun’s waist, his chest pressed lightly against Shaun’s back, and kissed the nape of his neck. He felt Shaun relax into the embrace before Zach stepped away again and retrieved the can and glass. The sound of excited chatter filtered in from the living room, and Zach gave Shaun a crooked smile. “I better go rescue him from Cody.”

He got a snort in response as he headed back out to the living room. “Good luck with that.”

Justin was over by the couch, managing to look tolerant, if not interested, as Cody waved a folder at him that was covered in doodles of Cody’s favourite superheroes. “Zach drew them for me,” Cody declared with a proud grin that lit up his entire face, and Zach couldn’t help but smile back. He set Cody’s soda down on the table and headed back to the kitchen for the wine. The conversation had turned into an interrogation by the time he returned, handing a glass to Justin.

Justin hesitated, glanced up at Zach as though looking for an assist that wasn’t coming, and shrugged gamely. “Fine. Captain Astro?” he suggested in response to a question, not all that enthusiastically.

Cody made a face. “Captain Astro? He died, like, _forever_ ago.”

“That’s enough, Codes – finish up,” Zach suggested. “Not everyone’s a fan of comics.”

“I like comics,” Justin objected, the same odd and vaguely disgruntled look on his face. “I drew one, for a while.”

Zach’s eyebrows shot up as he tried to reconcile the sophisticated paintings and graphic design work he’d seen in Justin’s portfolio with ... comic books. Not that comics weren’t fun, but they didn’t exactly fit with Justin’s original Serious Art Guy demeanour. “Really?” he asked, shaking his head. “I’m having a hard time seeing that.”

“It was a superhero book; we called it ‘Rage.’ He had mind-control powers, that sort of thing.” Justin shrugged. The look on his face suggested that there was a lot more to that brief summary than he was willing to let on in current company, and Zach made a mental note to look it up later. “It was an indie thing, self-published. My former partner’s best friend wrote it, and he needed an artist. We did pretty well, for a book that mostly sold online. We almost had a movie made,” Justin explained, looking a little uncomfortable. “I came down to LA to do storyboards for it, but the studio cancelled the production.”

Shaun nodded in commiseration, appearing in the doorway to the kitchen with a plate of meat. “That’s Hollywood for you,” he shrugged. “Grill should be good; I’ll go throw these on.”

\--

Shaun had hoped for a few minutes to himself outside but Zach and Justin followed him onto the balcony, leaving Cody inside to finish packing up. The early evening air still had a hint of crispness to it, a feeling that wouldn’t last too much longer as spring faded into summer.

There was a small park next to the building, not quite as good as a back yard of their own but close enough for now, with a fountain and a handful of small trees breaking up the expanse of grass. Justin leaned on the railing of the balcony and looked out over the space. “Not bad,” he offered, wine glass in his hand.

“It’s pretty handy,” Zach said, with a small, pleased smile. “It’s somewhere for Cody to go and blow off a little steam, and we have picnics down there a lot on weekends.”

Cody swung himself around on the frame of the balcony door and blinked large blue eyes at Zach.

“I need help!”

Shaun glanced over his shoulder to make sure that he wasn’t the one being paged, but Cody was reaching out for Zach. Shaun turned back to the grill as Zach answered. “S’up, Codes? Did you get your homework put away?”

“I can’t get my backpack zipper closed.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause it’s kinda broken.”

Zach paused, and gave Cody a questioning look. Shaun turned to watch the conversation play out, an eyebrow raised. Zach was still the heavy of the two of them when it came to Cody, and Shaun couldn’t quite bring himself to give up the role of ‘fun dad.’ Unless he absolutely had to.

“Why’s it broken?” Zach asked.

The boy shuffled his feet and looked a little uncomfortable.

“Cody?”

“’Cause Carmen kinda jumped on it at school.”

Shaun hung his head and fought back a grin, the muscle in his jaw twitching with the effort to keep a straight face. He hid the would-be-smile behind his hand, camouflaging it as rubbing his jaw. Zach closed his eyes for a moment, stifled a groan, and headed inside. “Codes, seriously?” The door slid closed behind him on Cody’s explanation, the rise and fall of his voice muffled by the glass.

Shaun shook his head and gave a short, exasperated chuckle, then closed the lid on the grill and stared out over the green space, acutely aware that he and Justin had been left alone together for the first time. “Wasn’t Brett Keller supposed to be working on some kind of superhero property a few years ago?”he asked, by way of making conversation.

“That’d be it,” Justin nodded. “’Rage: The Gay Crusader.’ It was supposed to be the first queer superhero on the big screen. We made it partway through preproduction before the studio got scared and pulled the plug.”

Shaun nodded again, a small smile twisting up one corner of his mouth. “I’ll bet. It’s always a kick in the teeth when that happens. I met Keller at an industry thing a while back,” he added as an aside. “He’s a real douche.”

Justin smirked and shook his head. “True. But he believed in the project. At least until the money dried up.” He sipped at his wine, then glanced back at Shaun. “You’re a screenwriter, aren’t you?”

“I go back and forth,” Shaun shrugged noncommittally. ‘Writer’ in general was easier, and didn’t lead to questions about which movies and how many and ‘why haven’t I seen any of them.’ “I’ve sold a few screenplays, but only one made it through production. The novels do better. I’d love to sell the rights for any of those, or better yet, do the scripts myself, but I don’t know if that’ll happen. It’s all a crapshoot and a numbers game around here.”He turned back to the grill, opened it and flipped the steaks and the hot dogs. “It is amazing seeing your work on the big screen, though. It makes the ‘almosts’ actually worth it.”

Justin grimaced. “I’ll bet.”

The sound of voices filtered through the windows, the actual words muffled by the glass, Zach’s easy tenor and Cody’s still-high soprano rising and falling in conversation. Shaun glanced at Justin, wrestled with his impulses for a minute. If he was ever going to say anything, ever going to get a chance to make his point, it had to be now.  “Zach told me what happened last week,” Shaun said. And then he waited.

Justin frowned at his wine glass, then looked up to meet Shaun’s eyes and hold them with a steady gaze. “Zach loves you, you know. More than I realized at first.”

That wasn’t what Shaun had expected, but he’d take it. He smiled tightly and let the grill lid fall closed with a loud clang. He was a little bit pleased to see Justin flinch from the noise. “Believe me, I know,” Shaun said. “He also told me that he shot you down.”

“Yeah, he did,” Justin said with a small laugh. “He called me names, too.” He paused, just for a beat, then, with a smile that actually touched his eyes for a second, “I deserved it.”

“That you did.”

The voices from inside were getting louder, and Zach opened the door to rejoin Justin and Shaun on the balcony as Cody was in mid-sentence. “... because I wouldn’t kiss her, even when she _sat_ on me. Girls are gross! And so is kissing. _You_ don’t kiss girls! Why should I have to?”

Zach had a faint look of exasperation around his eyes, and he shook his head as he replied. “No-one said you had to. But some guys actually like kissing girls, Codes. It might not sound so gross when you’re older.”

Cody gave him a dirty look and turned to Shaun. He didn’t have a chance to say anything before Shaun grinned and held his hand up to stop him. “Don’t look at me, little man. Girls are not my forté.”

The nine year old’s laser-like focus turned, still looking for an ally in his determination. “Justin, do _you_ like kissing girls?”

“Um,” Justin replied, caught off-guard. “No. I don’t.”

“See!?” Cody cried out. “Because they’re gross, right? Carmen wears stuff on her lips that makes them all greasy-”

Shaun opened the grill again and let out a sigh of relief at the sight of the steaks, just about done. He flipped off the burner and started loading up a plate. “Okay, dinner’s ready,” he interrupted Cody firmly. “Cody, go wash your hands.”

“I am _not_ ready for these conversations,” Zach muttered under his breath, and herded Cody back inside.

“Perfect timing,” Justin said quietly, amused.

“Thank you.” Shaun accepted the compliment with a little nod and a flash of what might have been his first real smile of the evening, before closing the lid and lifting the plate to take everything back inside.

\--

Dinner was going a little bit better than Zach had predicted, based on the first part of the evening. Shaun had relaxed a little – not enough to really kick back, but enough that his eyes weren’t tight and strained in the corners anymore – and Justin was managing to hold his own with Cody’s incessant questions and attempts to explain the entire plot of the first season of _The Last Airbender_.

Shaun managed to distract Cody long enough for someone else to get a word in edgewise, and Zach gestured at Justin with his glass. “So how much longer are you in town?”

He got a frown in response. “I’m heading back to New York at the end of the month,” Justin answered, “so another three weeks. I have about ten days after classes and finals are over to wrap up the paperwork.”

“What’s next for you?” Shaun asked, looking up from serving Cody some salad.

“I’ve got another show at the Kincaide,” Justin replied. “This one’s a solo, which should be good. The pieces I had in a showcase there sold, so they’ve asked me to do some more. After that, it’s a bit more nebulous. My friend Carter is working on organizing that showcase I was telling you about-“ he poked the air in Zach’s general direction with his fork. “It’s a group show,” he explained, for Shaun’s sake, “with a focus on street art. He’s into this whole ‘found object’ sculpture right now, which is grittier than his usual work. It’s been interesting.

“And,” Justin said, “my offer still stands. It’s nothing major – there are a lot of people getting in on this and there’s not a huge amount of space – but having a couple of smaller pieces in a show isn’t a bad way to start. You could come up for a week, take a chance to see the city-“

Cody jumped in at that, his eyes wide and his grin wider. “Cool. We’re gonna go to New York?”

Zach shook his head. “Nothing’s settled, Codes. It’s a long way off and it would take a lot of work to organize-“ he glanced at Shaun, his mind already spinning with everything that would have to be planned, done, the money it would take to fly the three of them out, get a hotel, especially for a _week_ – could Shaun’s parents be convinced to babysit instead? Were they even going to be in town?

Oblivious to Zach’s train of thought, Cody was practically vibrating in his chair with excitement. “That’s so cool! I want to go to _Niketown_! Stupid-head-Mitchell-”

“Don’t call him that,” Zach admonished.

“-went when he was visiting his grandparents and he got _three_ pairs of shoes! And there’s a toy store with a _Ferris wheel_ inside!”

Shaun laughed. “Well, he’s sold.”

“We’ll see,” Zach said. It wasn’t like he had anything ready to send, which meant trying to figure out something new, something that would belong in a freaking _gallery_ with work from piles of other artists – _successful_ artists at that. It was all well and good to talk about it while he was still in school, like it was something that could actually happen, but not for a while yet. Because (as Jeanne’s voice in his head inevitably cropped up to remind him), half of his class were just going to end up working at art supply stores anyway. “I still have to graduate first, and find a job, plane tickets cross-country are expensive-“

“Stop over-thinking things,” Justin said, jabbing at Zach with his empty fork again. “Take the risk! I can’t guarantee that there’ll be another opportunity like this that I can send your way, so unless you’ve got something better in mind for the fall…” he trailed off and shrugged, knowing full well that Zach didn’t, with that little victory smirk that Zach hated.

“He’s got a point,” Shaun admitted.

Cody frowned as something vitally important worked its way through his pre-pubescent mind. Chin in his hand, he levelled his gaze at Justin.

“If you pee off of the top of the Statue of Liberty, would you get thrown in jail?”

\--

Zach hadn’t been exaggerating; Shaun _was_ a good cook. And after dinner – not as easy as it would have been with Zach alone, but not, in the end, as uncomfortable as Justin had dreaded – Justin and Zach had ended up on dish duty while Cody hauled Shaun downstairs to the park to run off some energy. They were down there now, tossing a Frisbee back and forth, while Justin leaned against the apartment wall on the balcony and lit a cigarette. Zach was inside collecting his portfolio, and Justin had time for a couple of drags before the door slid open again and Zach joined him in the fresh air.

 **“** Cody’s a fun kid,” Justin said idly, as the subject of his observation skidded down a small hill and landed on his feet.

“Yeah, he is,” Zach agreed. “You’re pretty good with him. Do you ever think about having your own?”

“Sure, sometimes,” Justin replied; somehow it felt like a confession. “My first boyfriend had a son. I was a bit young to really appreciate it at the time, but I always enjoyed hanging out with him. I babysat sometimes.”

“That was Brian, right?” It surprised him a little that Zach remembered the name; a piece of that history had come out during one of their late-night smoke breaks, and getting high wasn’t exactly known for being a memory aid. 

“That’s him. Gus was born the night Brian and I got together. He’s... God, he’d be almost twelve now. Shit,” Justin said, almost reverently. All that time gone. Gus had been about Cody’s age – no, a year younger, maybe – when Justin had last seen him; Christmas at Deb’s. What would he look like now? Tall, dark and slim, no doubt, even if he hadn’t hit puberty yet. Gus had always looked so much more like Brian than Lindsay.

“Do you still talk to him at all?” Zach moved to lean on the balcony railing, threw a quick wave to Shaun and Cody below. He crossed his arms, his half-empty wine glass hanging lightly from his fingertips. He looked back, watching Justin with curiosity.

“Brian? No. Not in a few years. We both got busy, it… got weird. Long distance is a bitch,” he finished, unable or unwilling even now to find a way to explain it that would make sense. How could you make sense of the slowly encroaching distance, and the silences that had once been so easy and had become awkward, so gradually that he hadn’t picked up on it happening until it was too late? 

The enormity of it hit him even as he danced around the edges of the memories. Brian was still the same in Justin’s mind as he had been three years ago; so was Gus. Gus was still like Cody, obsessed with the video games that his mothers wouldn’t let him have, the comic books that Michael smuggled to him during visits home-

What would he be like now? What would _either_ of them be like? Justin had changed in three years; for the better, he thought. He’d had the chance to grow up, finally, without fighting expectations and the weight of shared histories. Away from the people who had known him as an obnoxious little kid, he’d had the chance to reinvent himself.

Zach didn’t seem happy with that answer, though. “Wait; you were together for eight years and _long distance_ did you in? Why don’t I buy that?”

“Eight years off and on,” Justin corrected. “Sometimes a lot more off than on.” He tipped his head back to rest against the wall, the heat from the sun leaving the concrete warm against his shoulders. 

“He met someone else?” Zach guessed. Then after a pause, “ _you_ met someone else?”

Justin shrugged. “We were never monogamous. That wasn’t the issue. It was… complicated.”

“Complicated.” Zach said, giving him a Look. “So what happened?”

The cigarette was burning down a little in Justin’s hand and he brought it to his mouth again to give himself a second to think.  “We commuted for a while, travelled back and forth a lot. And that was good,” he admitted. “Not great, but a lot better than nothing.

“But he had his life, his work, his friends – and they were all there, except for his son. And I had – _have_ – a life in New York. And after a few years we’d spent so much time living different lives that we didn’t have that much left to say, anymore. Every anecdote needed ten minutes of back-story to make sense. That’s not a partner. That’s a pen pal with benefits.”

Zach turned to face Justin. “So that’s it?” he asked with a frown. “You just gave up?”

“I didn’t just ‘give up,’” Justin corrected him. Except, hadn’t he? _No_. Giving up on Brian too early wasn’t something he’d ever take the blame for. “I told you. It’s complicated.”

“So it’s because the hot... hot?” Zach raised an eyebrow.

“Extremely hot,” Justin conceded, but there was something ridiculous and funny in this entire exchange and his lip twitched up a little in recognition.

“ _Extremely_ hot boyfriend, willing to jump on a plane for you all the time, and wait around for you to get your life together… it wasn’t working anymore because he had his own life going on, and didn’t get all your jokes?”

Justin flattened his lips and shook his head. “I had my reasons, all right?” Though what they were, really, besides enough pride not to go chasing after Brian Kinney one more time...“I needed to do things on my own for a while.”

Shaun threw Cody over his shoulder down in the park, and Cody’s laughter filtered up to them, raw and warm, and Justin felt his insides clench tightly. Regret, nostalgia, _grief_?

“Oh, dude.” Zach breathed it out like he’d had a revelation of some kind. “You still love him.”

Justin didn’t answer, staring off the balcony instead.

“Holy shit, you do. You still love him. Why the fuck won’t you call him?” Zach shoved Justin lightly in the middle of his chest, an affectionate reminder of his easy physicality.

“It’s been years. There’s too much water under that bridge now.”

“Bullshit. You’re just chicken.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Zach. Just drop it.”

Zach just shook his head and grinned, and Justin furrowed his brow in confusion.

“What?”

Zach leaned in and stabbed a finger at Justin’s chest, poking him lightly in the sternum. “You’re a hypocrite, that’s what. What was all that talk about taking risks, and seizing the moment? You’re so full of shit.”

“I take plenty of risks-“ Justin tried to object, but Zach steamrolled him and kept talking.

“PIFA suspends you, and you don’t go back – you just let ‘life happen.’ You had this guy that you loved, and you just let him go, let ‘life happen.’ You’ll never get what you want unless you take it, Justin. Shaun told me that once, years ago,” Zach wound down, with a satisfied smile. “I’m really starting to see that he was right. Call him.”

“It’s more…” Justin searched for a better word and failed, fell back on the one he’d been using all along. “- more complicated than that.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

Shaun and Cody had vanished back into the building and Zach slid the balcony door open, headed in to greet them. Justin stayed where he was for a minute, lost in thought.

**\--**

Zach left Justin on the balcony and took his empty wine glass inside, got as far as the kitchen to put it down before Shaun and Cody came tumbling through the door, laughing and dirty-kneed and a little bit sweaty. Cody made a break for the bathroom and Shaun slipped an arm around Zach’s waist, leaning in to kiss him. Zach leaned up into it, smiled against Shaun’s mouth, only half-aware of the balcony door sliding open again behind them. Shaun leaned into the kiss a little more at the sound– _territorial, much? Not that that wasn’t kind of hot_ – and he was glancing up and over Zach’s shoulder as they split apart.

Justin was pointedly looking at the tumbled pile of artwork that Zach had left on the table, rather than at them, and his expression was subdued. Could it possibly be that something Zach had said had hit home? He’d meant to make Justin stop and think, more than anything, but hadn’t expected him to actually listen. It was impossible to tell from his face, and Zach wasn’t about to stop and ask him now. Not here.

“You two are going to need to get some work done?” Shaun asked, sounding a little reluctant at the idea. His fingertips still rested lightly at Zach’s waist, brushing against the folds of his t-shirt. “Do you need me to take Cody out again, or can you work around us?”

“I want ice cream,” Cody hurtled out of the hallway, and launched himself at the couch. “Can we, Shaun, please?” He grabbed for the remote and flipped on the TV, sprawling out full-length across the three-seater.

“It’s not a problem,” Justin commented, shaking his head. “We can work here, if you don’t mind us taking over the dinner table for a while.”

“Cool,” Shaun nodded, looking a little relieved. “I think Cody’s settling in; I’ll hang out with him until you finish.” Zach caught himself leaning in to Shaun just a bit as Shaun pulled away and walked toward the couch, the flash of a grin on Shaun’s face proving that he’d noticed it too. Zach turned and headed for the table where Justin stood, Shaun and Cody’s voices rising and falling behind him.

“I think we’re out of ice cream, but there might be popcorn in the cupboard.”

“Popcorn’s cool. Can we watch a movie? There’s nothing good on TV tonight.”

“These two are really good-“ that was Justin, already pulling out a few of the pieces that Zach had tagged, and set them to one side.

“Thanks,” Zach smiled a little hesitantly. It was one thing to look at them fresh and say they were decent, but he only saw every flaw, every awkward line and misplaced brushstroke; and could only imagine what Moore would say during the critique. “This would be so much easier if it wasn’t in front of everyone,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“You’ll be fine-“

“What’s _Yellow Submarine_? Is it a war movie, like Red October?”

“No – it’s a cartoon, and it’s a classic. And when exactly did you see _Hunt for Red October_?”

Justin broke off in mid-sentence and glanced back over his shoulder at the pair on the couch, Cody paging through a binder of DVDs. “ _Yellow Submarine_? That’s one of my favourites,” he said, flashing a bright smile that took some of the tired look out of his eyes. “I must have watched that a thousand times as a kid.”

“Seriously?” Shaun looked surprised, but in a pleased sort of way.

“By ‘classic,’ you mean black and white and stuff, like that one about the dead guy with the big house? Because that was really boring,” Cody interjected, looking dubious.

“No,” Shaun grinned, ruffling Cody’s hair. “And I will forgive you the slight against the genius of Orson Welles, but only because you’re too young to know any better.” He gave Justin a measuring look, tempered with the start of a small smile. “What do you think, George?”

 “I think I burnt my finger,” Justin replied without missing a beat, in a frankly horrific attempt at an accent, and Zach looked down at his portfolio to hide his smile. The remnants of the tension in the room lifted a little more, and Zach felt his shoulders unlock along with it. He relaxed even further about five minutes later, once Shaun had loaded the DVD up for Cody and went to find the popcorn, trailing his fingers along Zach’s rounded-over back as he passed by.

Justin’s informal portfolio critique didn’t take nearly as long as Zach had anticipated – it helped that he had seen a decent number of the preliminary sketches before. The rest of the evening found them hanging out, laughing and stealing the second batch of popcorn from each other. Zach was sprawled on the couch, fighting for space with Shaun’s stretched-out legs, Cody draped easily overtop of them both. Justin was in the armchair on his other side, one foot tucked beneath him, he and Shaun trying to get the jump on each other as they quoted punchlines back and forth. This; this was good. This was _home_.

Justin looked a lot more at ease when he grabbed his jacket to leave than he had when he’d first arrived. Zach decided to chalk this one up as a success. It was Shaun that Justin turned to, with one hand on the door, just as he was heading out. “This was good; I had a good time tonight. Thank you.” And there were currents under currents there that Zach couldn’t parse. “I’ll see you and Cody at the final show next week?”

“Absolutely,” Shaun nodded, one hand falling to rest on Zach’s upper back, warm and solid, his thumb rubbing an easy circle over and under the collar of Zach’s t-shirt. “After all this? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eternal love to my brilliant betas [roane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/roane) and [moonbrightnights](http://moonbrightnites.livejournal.com/)! Their help is invaluable, as it has been for every chapter. All errors are mine.

**Chapter 9:**

**I survived!!**

_I knew you would. Moore didn’t savage you like you predicted?_

**Nope. Said mostly nice things. Think he thought I was someone else. Need to work on life drawing more**

_I might be able to come up with a few suggestions for that._

**Thought you might :D**

_So is that it?_

**For me. yup. On break, doing second half of class after. Need coffee**

_I am so proud of you._

**Thx. Youre my muse**

_I’m saving that text, just for the record._

**Sap**

_Duh._

**gjhkl hBH  HEYYY SHAUN GIVE US A KISS**

_?_

_Hi, John. Can you give Zach’s phone back?_

**HOW’D YOU KNOW?**

_Educated guess._

…

**Hey, s’me. Gotta go**

_Try to relax! Cody and I will see you tonight. Do you need dinner?_

**Class chipping in 4 pizza. Ill eat here**

_Sounds good. I love you._

**Love you too.**

\--

The gallery space had been transformed since Shaun had seen it last. Zach had tried to describe the setup, but even his doodles on a paper towel over breakfast hadn’t prepared Shaun for the sheer volume and variety of the works on display from the School of Art’s senior class. The long white walls were covered with images of all shapes and sizes, carefully framed paintings and portraits competing for attention with cardboard-matted sketches and photographs. The hallway between the gallery and the courtyard had its own installation, design sketches and an ‘in-progress’ photo essay leading the viewer down towards the open courtyard door. Lights strung along the ceiling of the gallery and the hallway made pinpoint constellations in white and palest blue and green, giving the space an ethereal feel. They’d done a quick circuit when they’d first arrived, caught the spotlights in the courtyard just turning on to illuminate the mural as the sun set low on the horizon.

He recognized some of the faces around them, at least those who’d been part of Zach’s small circle for the last few years. Callie was easy enough to spot and to place, her close-cropped hair bright swirls of orange and acid-blue, her parents, corporate drones in co-ordinating power suits, smiling and nodding dutifully as she gestured at one of her vast digital collages. John had been harder to recognize, his usually-wild hair slicked back, actually wearing a tie, hands sedately clasped behind his back as he took the critiques and praise – mostly praise – for his oils.

Cody was already tugging at his tie and Zach didn’t look much more comfortable, in spite of how good he looked in the dark suit and dress shirt. It made him appear older, more defined, the charcoal fabric pulling gently across the muscles in his shoulders when he moved. As soon as the term was officially over, Shaun decided, he was going to call in every favour he was owed. He’d get premiere tickets, maybe dinner reservations – any excuse to get Zach back in even semi-formal wear once in a while. And then take him out of it again. Cunning plan conceived, and tucked aside for later, Shaun dropped his hand to the small of Zach’s back and rested it there, solid and reassuring. 

“What’s next?” Shaun asked, the boxed wine in the plastic glass in his other hand slowly getting warm as they stood in the gallery. “I want to see the mural one more time now that it’s dark out and the lights will be working properly. If you’re okay with that.” Zach made a face at the suggestion and Shaun kissed the side of his head, right above his ear, “Or, we can go hover beside your work a little more and eavesdrop on all the praise.”

“Definitely not that,” Zach shook his head fiercely. He was looking calmer than he had when Shaun had dropped him off that morning, all nerves and elbows and stress. “I’ve done enough explaining about my ‘inspirations’ and ‘unusual techniques’ for one night. And I never want to hear the word ‘conceptualize’ again.”

“Deal,” Shaun smiled against Zach’s hair – stiff tonight with product, a far cry from his usual half-rumpled style. And why not? Everything about tonight was out of the ordinary, the culmination of four years of work and caffeine addiction and stress levels that bordered on the inhuman. Tonight, Zach deserved to have everyone look at him with admiration.

Fine. So he was waxing lyrical, and he couldn’t blame it on the three sips of bad wine he’d had in the hour and a half they’d been there. If he couldn’t be a little bit ridiculous and over the top about his partner at the height of his success (for the moment – it would only get better from here), then really, when could he? “The mural it is, and then we can use Cody as an excuse to make our escape. His eyes are starting to glaze over.”

“I’m not tired,” Cody protested, the yawn that followed the declaration putting the lie to his objection. Shaun ruffled his hair affectionately, and they followed Zach out of the gallery and down into the hall. Cody was looking longingly at the exit door as they passed; they’d have to make this reasonably quick.

The evening air was a relief once they made it into the courtyard, the press of bodies in the gallery making the air there still and stuffy. “There’s Moore,” Zach fidgeted nervously, nodding in the direction of the mural. Zach’s professor was standing by the wall, glass of wine in one hand and gesturing effusively with the other as he chatted with Justin Taylor. Taylor was wearing all black, a sophisticated and – if Shaun’s eye was anything to go by – ridiculously expensive designer suit that fit him like it was tailor-made. It probably had been. That figured.  

“Do you want to talk to him, or make a break for it?” Shaun asked quietly, but it was already too late – Moore had spotted them and was beckoning them over, a wide smile creasing more lines into his face.

“I don’t think we have a choice,” Zach replied, one corner of his mouth tugging up into a smile as the three of them crossed the courtyard.

Moore had obviously had more than the one glass of wine so far tonight, the already-friendly and slightly distractible professor now full-on gushing. “You have a very talented young man here,” he expounded to Shaun almost immediately after they had exchanged greetings. “Zach’s just been a _joy_ , a true pleasure to have in the class.” Zach cringed in embarrassment at the effusive praise, and Shaun merely beamed. Justin was grinning into his own glass, apparently amused by the entire thing. “And such a future as an artist. Don’t you agree, Mister Taylor?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Justin nodded, his smirk not fading.

“We’re very proud of him,” Shaun replied. “He’s worked hard for this.” A waiter wandered by with a tray and Shaun leaned over to ditch his glass.

“That he has,” Moore tucked his thumbs in his suspenders and rocked back on his heels and both Zach and Justin braced for something, expectation in both their expressions. “And now it’s time to reap the rewards of all that work. You’ll need to confirm with Valerie regarding the gallery trip by tomorrow, don’t forget.” 

“Uh. About that-“ Zach started, but Moore had already tuned out and was waving at someone across the courtyard.

“There’s the Dean; excuse me, gentlemen,” Moore said, gave Cody an absent-minded nod, and vanished into the crowd before Zach could say any more. Trip? Now what? Shaun was dying to ask, but Justin was still there, and it didn’t seem like the time to start prying – or admitting that there were apparently things that Zach still wasn’t telling him.

“It’s just the end-of-year trip,” Zach said, shaking his head. Cody wandered off a little ways into the crowd and was staring at the mural. “Moore arranges for the grads to go down to the city for a couple of days and do some gallery tours. It’s no big deal. I already told him I wasn’t going.”

“But you should,” Justin said, glancing from one man to the other. “It’s a chance to meet some of the managers, see what kind of work is being shown where, and it’s a good opportunity to start networking.”

“It’s money for the bus and the hotel room,” Zach reminded him, “and two days away... we’ve been going balls-out for weeks now; I just want to be home. I’m fine skipping it. Hey, do you know if Mira’s here tonight? I wanted to tell her how awesome her photo essay turned out-”

And there was the lie. Zach’s little glance down at his wine was the tell, along with the rush he made to change the subject. Another sacrifice for Zach, giving up something he wanted for the sake of home and Shaun and peace- and it wasn’t like this was a flight across the country for a month, or some indefinite time frame, for crying out loud. There was compromise and then there was overcompensation, and Zach always gravitated towards the latter.

“I think you should go,” Shaun said, watching for Zach’s reaction. The flash of hope in Zach’s eyes gave him the answer he needed, and he made up his mind. He didn’t have to like it, necessarily, but hell – if Zach didn’t deserve a chance to get out a little bit and enjoy himself now, when would he?  “It’s only a couple of days; Cody and I can hold down the fort. When would you leave?”

“Thursday morning, and Moore’s got the meetings scheduled that afternoon and Friday morning,” Justin replied. “I think about twelve people have confirmed.” So it wouldn’t be just Justin and Dr. Moore and Zach; Shaun caught the undercurrent of the answer, the intention behind it, and he nodded with a half-smile. “It would be a shame for you to miss it,” Justin sipped from the glass in his hand absently. “And I’ll make sure he gets home in one piece,” he joked, grinning at Shaun.

Zach’s conflict was practically written on his face in marker. “I should be spending that time running my resume around to some places, or hanging out with you and Cody-“

That settled it. Shaun shook his head. “So print off your resume and drop it off a bunch of places downtown. If you get a job in the city, we can always move closer. It’s not like we have to stay in Valencia now that you’re done with school; I can write anywhere. Hell,” he grinned, “it’s a work trip, really, so keep the receipts and we can probably find a way to claim it as a tax write-off.” Zach made a face at Shaun, but he was cracking a grin, which was a vast improvement.

“Not to mention Moore writes great recommendation letters when he’s half in his cups,” Justin said. “Which makes going out with the class on Thursday night practically mandatory if you have any plans to hit him up for references and contacts. I fully credit the scotch we had during my interview with landing this job.”

Zach looked from one to the other with an expression bordering on dismay. “When, exactly, did this turn into the two of _you_ teaming up on _me_? How did this even happen?”

“Tell you what,” Shaun was on a roll now, the idea taking shape in his mind as he spoke. This could work, be a good excuse to get them all out of the apartment for a while, back to a place where everything always seemed simpler. “Mom and Larry are in Cancun right now, so the beach house will be empty. Cody and I will hit the road after school on Friday, and pick you up on the way through. We’ll spend the weekend there, get some serious relaxing in, paddle some, get you back into the sun. You’re turning into a mushroom from so many hours indoors,” he teased. “All pale and spindly.”

And that suggestion caught Zach’s enthusiasm like he’d known it would, all that tension in his shoulders unlocking. “Am not,” he replied with a grin. “Least, no worse than you. And speaking of pale-“ Zach had a grin on his face that spoke of trouble when he turned to Justin again, a playful look that Shaun hadn’t seen on him in a while.

“What?” Justin asked, looking at Zach warily.

“Do you ever actually go outside in the daytime?”

“I go out!” Justin objected, but there was no denying the vast, vast differences in his and Zach’s complexions; the New York boy was practically translucent next to Zach’s golden tan.

“Have you been to the beach since you got here?” Zach asked, and Shaun raised an eyebrow – he had a hunch that he knew where this was going. He’d hoped for some real family time this weekend, but the beach house was big enough that they’d be able to steal some alone time, regardless...

“No,” Justin admitted.

Zach’s eyes were alight with mischief. “Have you ever been surfing?”

“ _God_ no,” Justin shuddered, and Shaun laughed in spite of himself. Okay, yeah. This was going to be good. And absolutely worth having an extra guy bumming around the place with them.

“Come with us,” Zach offered. “It’s about an hour out from the city, there’s plenty of space at the house for an extra, and even if you don’t go in the water, the scenery’s pretty fantastic.”

“And the landscape isn’t bad either.” Shaun realized with a bit of surprise, as Zach whacked him in the arm and Justin snickered, that somewhere over the past week he’d gotten comfortable enough with Taylor to actually crack jokes. And to seriously entertain the idea of having him over to Larry’s place with them. Not as if he could take the offer back once Zach had made it, but even so.

“Zach!” A woman’s voice intruded on the laughter and the three men turned almost as one. Cody was being marched along by a pretty girl in dark-rimmed glasses, her mass of tight curls held barely in check by a narrow hand-painted scarf . “I think this one’s yours?”

“Oh no, Cody-“ Zach groaned, breaking out of the group to head towards the pair. “Thanks, Mira. Is he ok? What’d he do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Cody sulked, hands in his pockets, his rounded shoulders and drooping head suggesting otherwise.

“Little dude’s fine,” she replied, her hand not leaving his shoulder where she’d had him in a bit of a death grip. “But I busted him trying to hang upside down from the fire escape ladder.”

“I wanted to see if it was as easy as it looks when Spider Man does it.”

Shaun hung his own head for a second, caught himself reaching up to rub his forehead, and stopped. “And that would be our cue to get out of here.”

Justin nodded, then pointed at Zach as Zach thanked his classmate profusely and grabbed Cody’s arm. “Thursday, we’re meeting at nine.”

“Yeah, fine,” Zach grumbled, distracted. “Thursday. Come on, Codes, let’s go home. _Before_ we end up in the ER again.”

\--

Justin’s plans for LA hadn’t originally included tagging along on a two-day gallery tour with a pile of just-past teenagers. The trip got him downtown with cab chits and a per diem for a couple of days, though, and Thursday nights were half-price drinks at a couple of the WeHo clubs. It wasn’t a bad way to end the term.

And then what? Back home, back to Brenda and her endless list of commitments and obligations, back to Daphne and their eclectic, ridiculous apartment with the beaded curtain she refused to get rid of and the postcard collage on his wall, and his currently very empty bed.

So there were upsides and downsides to everything. At least the bed situation was fixable, even if only on a nightly basis.

Justin stepped into the door of the club and let the heat and the noise wash over him, carry away the nagging thoughts that he’d so far been managing to avoid. Most of the kids had split off in different directions after dinner, leaving a small group of four tagging along with Justin to the clubs. Callie had dragged Zach out of the room he was sharing with John with little attention to his yelps of protest, and now she was heading towards the dance floor with her other friends. Zach was still dogging Justin’s heels as though he were afraid of being left behind. Or eaten alive, judging by some of the looks they were getting as Justin slid easily through the crowd towards the bar.

“You don’t get out much, do you?” Justin rested his elbows on the bar and turned to grin at Zach, teasing.

Zach mumbled something, then, realizing he hadn’t been heard, leaned in a little closer. “S’not really my scene,” Zach shouted to be heard over the thump of the bass line.

The bartender was down at the other end and didn’t look like he’d be making his way to them any time soon, and Justin changed his mind about waiting. He had his priorities tonight, and getting drunk was lower down on the list than getting off. “Come on,” he nodded toward the dance floor and the crush of bodies there, strobe lights glinting off of pecs and arms and gyrating hips.

“Don’t think so,” Zach shook his head with a frown.

“Suit yourself,” Justin shrugged and headed for the dance floor, half-expecting Zach to follow. Zach was still leaning against the bar when Justin looked back, though, looking vaguely uncomfortable and a little lost. The bartender came up behind him as Justin watched, catching Zach’s attention. Justin turned away, made himself vanish into the centre of the throng. Zach was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

It was so easy to lose time on the dance floor, his heartbeat throbbing into the drum-beat, conscious thought evaporating under the muscle-skin-blood-bone itch to simply _move_. And when, sometime later, the man grinding against him grabbed Justin’s hand to pull him into the back room, Justin went.

It wasn’t perfect, wasn’t even as good as some of the pickups he’d made here in LA over the last four months. But the air was warm against the strip of bared skin around his waist when the trick tugged Justin’s pants down, the brick wall against his back was just the right kind of rough, the mouth on his cock was slick and wet and way the cute guy with the military-style buzzcut worked him with his hands and tongue was probably illegal in a couple of southern states. Justin grabbed for purchase, wrapped his hands around the trick’s head as he arched, thrust up and in, felt the fire explode in his gut and race through and _out_ and burn away all the jumbled mess of his thoughts _._

_How long had it been since it had been his face against the wall, not this wall, the wall at Babylon, pants around his thighs and Brian’s cock deep inside, splitting him apart and shattering him into a million pieces-_

And when he opened his eyes, and the guy was pulling off, lips red and swollen, Justin saw Zach come around the corner, distracted and frowning, obviously looking for something. He stopped when he saw Justin, and his expression would be funny if he wasn’t so obviously thrown, and a little irritated. Justin looked away, tucked himself back in to his pants and headed for the door.

Zach was waiting for him, arms folded. “Seriously, dude?”

“What?”  Justin’s reply was nonchalant, and he slid his hands into his pockets. He was still riding the orgasm high, let the rubbing slide off his back. He wasn’t giving Zach shit, after all, for tying himself down at – what – twenty-two? to the only man he’d ever fucked. “He had fun, I had fun. We’re both consenting adults. What else do you need?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Zach arched his brow, and Justin followed as he headed out of the back room and into the main room of the club. “Actually calling a guy you care about instead of just using someone to get your rocks off?”

“Not talking about that,” Justin reminded him, and checked his watch; not even midnight yet. “And there’s nothing wrong with just fucking, for the record.” He gave Zach a slow look up and down, arching an eyebrow. “Unless you’re secretly a lesbian, and never bothered to tell me-“

“What _ever_ , dude.” Zach shook his head at Justin. “Maybe some of us non-lesbians would rather not spend our time pretending to be dead inside.”

“Call it what you like.” He wasn’t dead inside; most of the time he felt way more than was good for him. “Which one of us got laid tonight?”

Zach snorted, but didn’t take the bait. “And on that note, I’m heading back to the hotel. The girls are heading to some guys-not-allowed place next and I’m beat. Shaun’s picking me up around four tomorrow, after Artcore. You still coming?”

“At least once more tonight, if I’m lucky.” Justin relented at the silent stare of death he got in return, and nodded. “Yes, sure, why not.” He looked back out at the dance floor and weighed his options. “I’m sticking around here for a while yet. Go on back to the hotel; I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Zach headed off with a small wave, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets and rolling his shoulders under his worn grey hoodie. He skirted the edge of the packed dance floor as Justin watched, then disappeared out the door and into the night.

\--

The house in Pacific Bluffs was a little oasis, set back from the road along a tree-lined drive, the beach coming up right to the back, the sound of the ocean a constant heartbeat overtop of it all. Four years ago, Shaun had come running back here to hide from the world after leaving Geoff; four years ago he’d stumbled on his little brother’s best friend waxing his surfboard on the back deck, and everything had changed. His stepdad was still nowhere close to being one of his favourite people, but the beach house had become something special all on its own.

Cody had a room here now, Gabe’s old one, just down the hall from the suite that had first been Shaun’s, and then Shaun and Zach’s. Justin ended up in the guest room on the other side of the house, enough space between them to give everyone at least the illusion of privacy. __

It only took a few minutes for the quiet house to fill with noise, laughter and conversation and running feet. They had an hour and a half left of daylight, easy, just enough time to haul ass down to the beach and get the weekend started properly. Cody had the routine down pat despite the fact that they only seemed to make it down here a couple times a year, these days. He’d vanished to his room and reappeared in his half-sized wetsuit within minutes, pounding on Zach and Shaun’s bedroom door to get them moving.

Shaun stroked his hands down Zach’s sides, skated his thumbs over the hollows of his hips. “We should go, before Cody breaks the lock and busts in on us,” Zach murmured against his mouth, brushed his lips against Shaun’s one last time before he stepped away and reached for his shoes.

“I’m taking a rain check on this,” Shaun ran his hand down Zach’s back as he passed by him, cupped Zach’s ass and squeezed. It was easy to be playful here, knowing that the surf was waiting, knowing that the next two days spread out before them, unscheduled and undemanding. Zach swatted at him and Shaun laughed, grabbed the bag that held his wetsuit and towel. “I’ll take Cody out back and grab the boards. You see if Justin’s ready to roll.”

“So are you still taking bets?” Zach paused, one hand on the doorknob, and looked back over his shoulder at Shaun with that grin that made Shaun want to forget about everything and tackle him to the ground right there.

“Twenty bucks says he crashes and burns. Student should not try to become master overnight.”

“Master needs to accept that student has tricks of his own. Make it ten and a blow job and you’re on.”

\--

“Bike shorts, Zach? Come on.”

“You’re going to be wearing neoprene. What’s a little spandex underneath?”

“They’re really not my colour.”

“Funny. It’s that or a speedo, dude. You’re wearing my spare wetsuit; ergo, you’re covering your junk.”

“This is turning into a worse idea with every passing moment.”

“… and if you pee in it, you’re a dead man.”

...

“It’s too big; I don’t think it’s supposed to bunch up like this.”

“That’s because you’re a midget.”

“Fuck off.”

\--

“It’s all about balance – it’s really not that different from skateboarding-“

Justin looked out at the pounding waves, the high white crests breaking at the base of the bluff. He imagined himself out there, in the ridiculous wetsuit rolled up at the wrists and ankles, being tossed around like a cork only to end up broken and battered on the rocks. “You think I’ve ever been on a skateboard?”

Zach rolled his eyes. “Fine. Never mind.”

It seemed simple enough when he was still on land, learning to stand on Zach’s surfboard and how to balance. It was in the water that the thing came to life and tried to kill him. Justin’s first try had been a disaster: The board had tipped one way when he’d tried to scramble to his feet, he’d leaned the other to compensate, it had shot out from under his feet as though from a gun. And when he’d started to sink to the bottom of the fucking _ocean_ , Justin was sure that he could hear everyone he’d ever known laughing at him hysterically. A hand grabbed him and hauled him up to the surface a moment later, Zach’s worried face peering at him through the water that foamed and sprayed around them.

“Dude, you ok? That was one hell of a spill.”

“I hate you,” Justin spluttered, as half of the ocean tried to claw its way back up his throat, Zach’s arm around him secure. “And I hate everything about this.”

“Try it again,” Zach urged, as they pitched up onto the sand together. “If at first you don’t succeed-“ 

That should probably have been ‘if at third,’ or possibly ‘fourth.’ By the fifth time the surfboard had tried to finish what Chris Hobbes had started, Justin declared it the uncontested victor and decamped for the sun and the sandy beach. He could already feel the bruises forming up along his arms and legs, and one beautiful throbbing spot on his ribs that was going to look like he’d been kicked by a horse.

“Giving up, Taylor?” Shaun called from the water line, wiping the salt spray from his face. He was grinning, though, and Justin decided not to take offense.

“A man knows when he’s beaten,” Justin called back. “And I need all my bones intact.” He lay down on the sand and felt the warmth of the sun sink into his skin, his muscles, deep into the ache to linger there, and glow.

\--

“See, I don’t get it,” Zach shook his head in mock despair, water sheeting off his wetsuit and pooling on the dark wet sand at his feet before soaking in and vanishing.

“What? That you’re trying to kill me, or that it’s working?” Justin said.

“You can swim,” Zach continued, “you’re normally so co-ordinated, and reasonably light on your feet. Learning to surf should be a piece of cake.”

He was so full of shit.

Justin flapped a dismissive hand in Zach’s general direction. “None of that’s got to do with anything. You can surf, for example, but you sure as hell can’t dance.”

Justin peeled the wetsuit top down with a struggle and a grunt of effort, laughing at Zach’s half-indignant “whatever, dude.”

“I’m going back out,” Zach waved at Cody and Shaun, the pair of them riding back in on the waves. “You cool here?”

“I’m good. My bruises and I will spend some time getting acquainted. I may send you my therapy bill.”

“Don’t bother; this right here is the best therapy going,” Zach said, hefted his board without waiting for a reply, and ran back into the water.

\--

They’d been at the beach for almost two hours, the sun beginning its slow descent towards the horizon, and Justin sat on the rocks that ringed the beach, watching the darkening sky and the white caps of the waves. Zach and Shaun were still at it, running out to the waves together and riding them back in, their happiness palpable. Cody had flopped over not long before and refused to move, a small dark form on the sand. 

Zach shook his head and water droplets flew, his dark hair standing up in all directions from the water and the motion. Shaun threw a towel over Zach’s head and scruffed at his hair through it, laughter lighting up Zach’s face with a smile so broad and beaming that even Justin could see it from where he was sitting on the rocks. The gesture was intimate in the casual ease with which it was delivered, the pair of men so comfortable with each other that they moved together without conscious thought. And despite himself, despite all the self-delusion that he’d been feeding himself for weeks, Justin ached.

There had been someone, once, who had been that for him, whose body had been so in sync with his. Who had thrown a towel over his head and scrubbed away the tensions of the day, who had taken care of him with easy confidence, who had let himself be taken care of – however ridiculously grudgingly, and with a lot of shouting – in return.

Justin closed his eyes against the memory and the sudden stabbing pain of loss that surfaced out of nowhere to run him through. It had been years. Brian would have moved on long ago, and Justin’s memories should be fading, the images tinged with a little guilt over the way things had ended. Not this. He forced it back and shifted where he sat, the sharp edges of the rock digging into his leg. Shaun and Zach were heading out into the water again, Cody was down on the sand trying to do handstands on his surfboard, and Justin sprawled on the rocks and watched.

The waves here weren't like the ones in the Atlantic at all. They were wilder out here, more real on a level Justin wished he could capture in paint. But that was the trick, wasn’t it? It was the kind of thing so hard to get right, to make that first line on the page; to try and capture that essence that made the motion so beautiful in the first place, to catch the movement itself in pen and paint and sweeping curve. Better to stick to cityscapes and hard-edged lines, to angles and rain-slicked shadows.

Cody cheered, down below, and Justin looked out at the waves. Zach and Shaun were still out there, moving in tandem without even needing to look at each other. It was sexual, somehow, beyond the sheer athletics and rhythm of slick, wet bodies and rubber.

Freezing it in time and paint wasn't the only way to hold on to the surf.

_...salt cold water relax and lean into it, let it carry you, no thought only action, reaction, action the sun beats down on our backs, bodies in motion..._

_...heat salt-slick let the tension build don't fight it remember to breathe, the trail of fire of tongue on skin, the edge of teeth, there oh god oh christ more, bodies in motion..._

And he was caught in memory again, memory of Brian’s hands, Brian’s lips – God, those lips – the scrape of his teeth followed by the hot balm of his tongue. Sex had been Brian’s surfing, in a way; their shared communication, his escape.

Except that it hadn't been solely about the sex. Not at the start (not for Justin, anyway), not even once they'd been reduced to one-weekend-in-four and the days in between slowly stopped feeling like endless agony.

Zach and Shaun struggled ashore, boards under their arms and the sea trickling off them, a living thing. Justin climbed higher on the rocks, felt the heat of them on the soles of his bare feet. He found a reasonably flat rock and sat down, the cliff edge falling away below him to the beach, the sea reflecting the sky.

His phone was in the front pocket of his satchel and it was in Justin's hand before he could pause to think about what he was doing. To think about it would be to stop it, to check his impulse against the greater wave of _should shouldn't not smart going to regret this save ourselves the pain._

He wasn’t having a grand epiphany. Rather, it had been a slow dawning realization of a shape, the spectrum shades he'd once thought he could maybe live without. And he could - live without, that is. But it would be in a world desaturated, the tones too subtle.

He didn't need to think about the number, synapses unfired in three years still able to trigger muscle memory.

[The number you have dialled is not in service.]

He forgot to breathe.

[Please dial 1 and the area code before the number, if you wish to make a long-distance call.]

Justin flopped back on the rocks and stared up at the sky, brought up short. What he should do, of course, was redial, and properly this time; try it again, and get a real answer. And then what? _Hi, it’s been three years and we both suck at this talking thing, so how would it be if  I flew back to Pittsburgh and let you fuck me? Can we start with that?_   

Because that would do so much to fix the original problems. And things would be different; there was no way they couldn’t be. But different in the right ways, or the wrong ones?  With his luck, the things he needed to be different would be exactly the same, and the ones he still craved sometimes, in the stillness of the night, would be irrevocably gone.

Maybe it was a sign.

As if in answer to _that_ thought, Justin heard his name. He sat up and looked around, saw Zach waving him back down to the beach as Cody helped Shaun load the surfboards into the car. The sun was almost all the way down, now, red and gold fire reflecting off the handful of scattered clouds.

It was definitely a sign.

Justin put the phone back into his bag and jogged down the slope to rejoin the others.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, I love all of you crazy people who have been on this ride with me. You're all awesome and fantastic! I couldn't ask for better fandoms. 
> 
> Eternal love and chocolate to my very-patient betas, roane and moonbrightnites, who have taught me a metric fuck-ton about writing and pacing and chapter structure over the last couple of months. You're adorable and I want to have your babies. Metaphorically.
> 
> You'll notice that there's a chapter 11 now, but that's just the epilogue, and I'll be posting it tonight as well. Don't panic!

**Chapter 10:**

The world always looked different at three am. This time it wasn't because Justin was clubbing, or high, or painting – which was another kind of high altogether. This time, he wasn't drifting back to his dorm or his apartment through half-empty streets. He was sitting with his arms around his knees on the beach outside the house, and the world was reduced again to the night-cool sand beneath him and the arc of stars overhead, barely visible through the light that glowed softly from the streetlights and the city. He'd have to go a lot further out of town to see the real night sky, but the quiet was enough.

His phone sat beside his hand, a ring in the sand where he’d picked it up and dropped it again a couple of times. He stared at it, as though willing some psychic connection to flare back to life and take the decision out of his hands.

_Let me make my own mistakes._

And Justin had. He'd made some big ones and a lot more small ones, and he'd still pulled it all off. Without Deb or his mom to run to, without Brian writing checks behind his back, without Michael's scripts or Lindsay's contacts or more of Hollywood's money.

_What more do I have to prove?_

He could blame it on whiskey, except he was sober. He could blame it on bud, but he hadn't smoked today. He could blame it on the hour- or he could suck it up, be the grownup he was pretending to be, and blame it entirely on this:

He wanted to.

Justin fumbled with the phone as he picked it up, the sleek metal back chilly now from contact with the ground. He almost made the same mistake, dialling entirely by rote, but caught himself in time. Added the area code. Then the number.

This time, it rang.

And rang.

Christ. What time was it in Pittsburgh? Six in the morning.

There was a click, then a voice, mazed by sleep and annoyed by the wake-up and utterly, impossibly right.

"Kinney."

His breath caught in his throat. Justin closed his eyes against the knot that tangled itself up in his chest. He was silent by necessity, not by design.

"I can hear you breathing." Brian's voice prompted. There was shuffling, and Justin could picture the scene, Brian sitting up in bed, half-wrapped in his dark sheets- Fuck. What if there was someone there with him? "Who is this?"

"Brian?" He managed to get out, before his nerve entirely failed him. 

There was silence in return. Justin could picture that, too: the furrow in Brian's brow, raking his hand through his hair and then rubbing his face as he struggled towards consciousness, the soft intake of breath before he spoke.

"Justin-?" Half question, half yearning. Justin's heart began to beat again.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Are you alone?"

"Yeah. Unless you're calling from my shower-?" Was that hope Justin heard in those familiar, measured tones? No; he was projecting, imagining things. Three years was a long time to be in a holding pattern.

"I wish." An incautious slip, so easy to fall back into old habits, to assume that everything would be the same- he cut off that train of thought before it became dangerous. 

"Where are you?"

"LA. I had a thing at CalArts."

"I heard."

He hadn’t realized Brian had known, but then, with the pack of gossip hounds that made up Brian’s extended family – the family that Justin still circled the fringes of, even after being away for so long – he shouldn’t have been surprised. Jennifer had stopped asking after that first Christmas that Brian had skipped, after the phone calls and e-mails had dwindled to nothing and the visits were memories. The others had picked up on whatever signals she had sent out, and kept conversations with him conveniently Brian-free. Justin had assumed the same had been true in reverse.

"Brian-" the rest of it wanted to come out in a rush, but he managed to hold back the tide. Just this once. “I leave in two weeks. I’m supposed to be going back to New York.”

He hesitated, stared out at the ocean, the waves surging towards him in their endless swell and fall. He tensed, everything did, with nervousness and uncertainty and _want..._ Justin took a breath. “I want to see you.”

There. He’d said it, and it couldn’t be taken back now even if he’d wanted to. And the pressure in his chest both tightened and eased at the same time. “If I changed my flight... where would I find you?”

Silence. Then, with fondness, such that Justin could close his eyes and see the slow and spreading smile under hazel eyes. He wasn’t imagining that. He _knew_ , and he _ached_. Then, "Where you left me. Where the fuck else would I be?"

\--

"Marry me."

"We did this one already, remember? I asked first." Shaun traced the tattoo of linked rings on Zach's hip with a gentle finger, and Zach flattened his hand against the matching design on Shaun's. Zach could still feel the prick of the needles, remember every instant of that afternoon, watching his design blossom and bleed on Shaun’s skin. Was it selfish to want even more?

"No, I mean really.” Zach insisted anyway. “Fuck this 'once it's legal' shit. Marry me _now_. This summer. With... our families, and rings, and suits and a fucking _cake_ and Gabe getting hammered and trying to get Callie into bed during the reception. You’re already Cody’s second legal guardian – I want the rest of it too."

"Not that I'm arguing, but why? Why now?"

"Because I don't need to keep my options open, Shaun. I need _you_. And more than anything in the world, I need you to really know that. Here." And he rolled over in their bed so that he was straddling Shaun’s legs. Shaun’s hips fit perfectly between his thighs, two puzzle pieces cut and joined to match precisely. He laid his hand on Shaun's chest, somewhere between his heart and his gut. "So let's do it. We'll make a fucking spectacle of ourselves and get an album full of awkward pictures to embarrass Cody with five years from now.” Zach ran out of steam there, holding his breath and wavering between feeling nauseated and grinning like an idiot.

Shaun stared at him for a moment, then blinked and smiled back. He reached up and set his hand across the back of Zach's neck, then pulled him down for a deep, searching kiss, his lips soft.

When he let Zach go, Shaun’s smile matched his. "Let's do it," he agreed. A dozen knots untied themselves in Zach’s gut and the tension evaporated in a warm rush that left him sagging forward and a little limp. Not like he hadn’t known the answer, not really, but it was a different thing to hear it out loud. This must have been what Shaun had felt like last year, when they’d gone walking on the bluffs, and Shaun had taken his hand-

Zach came back to the here and now as Shaun took his hands again, laced their fingers together. "I've been dying to get a ring on your finger for a long time now," Shaun said. And Shaun rose up and they rolled together and Shaun pressed him back against the pillows and kissed him, hard and fierce and needy, and that was the end of talking for the night.

\--

The LA sunshine was bright and warm and Justin sat on the steps of the residence hall, his duffel bag beside him, soaking in the last few minutes of sunshine that he could. The forecast for Pittsburgh had promised rain, rain, and more rain, hardly surprising for the end of April, but after four months in California it was going to be a jar to his system.

A car pulled in to the parking lot – Zach and Shaun’s black station wagon, not the taxi he was waiting for – and Justin took a last drag on the cigarette he’d been smoking as the car stopped not far from the stairs. Justin lifted a hand to give a small wave to Shaun and Cody, visible through the half-open windows in the front and back seats. He got a nod back from Shaun and a wave from the kid as Zach unfolded himself out of the driver’s side, grabbed something from the car and came up toward him. Justin stood to greet him, dropping the cigarette butt and grinding it underfoot.

“You made it,” he greeted Zach with a smile, dropped his gaze to the black portfolio Zach had in his hand.

“Couldn’t let you go running off to be a romantic hero without a send-off, could I?” Zach said with a grin. “Here’re the prints you asked for,” he offered, and Justin took the folio gladly, the folder cool in his hands. He flipped through the images of Zach’s recent work, bold geometrics and bright colours filling the pages with life.

“I’ll get this to Brenda as soon as I get home,” Justin promised, tucking the folio into the side pocket of his carry-on. “You guys off to the beach?” he glanced at the car again, the shapes of surfboards visible as silhouettes against the back windows.

“Yeah; Shaun knows a place that might not be too bad. It’s no Laguna Beach, apparently,” Zach shrugged with a grin, “but anything closer than two hours away is a bonus.”

A honk sounded, and Justin’s taxi slid into a spot a few over from Zach’s car. “That’ll be for me,” Justin noted apologetically, hesitating for a second as the thought of what would be waiting for him – or not, because how could he be really sure, after all this time? – giving him a brief moment of panic. He stuck out his hand to shake Zach’s and found himself pulled into an easy hug, their clasped hands between them and Zach pounding him on the back with his loosely-closed fist.

“You take care of yourself, dude,” Zach said as he let go, and Justin squeezed his hand one more time before dropping it.

“I will. You too,” Justin replied, returning Zach’s smile. The cabbie was waiting, tapping his fingers on the outside of his door, and Justin slung the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder. “Keep in touch,” he said. “I’ll e-mail you-.”

“Would you just go?” Zach laughed, his eyes lighting up. “If I hear from you while you’re in Pittsburgh, I’m going to find Daphne’s phone number and send her in to smack you in person.”

Justin shook his head at Zach’s mock-threat. At least, he assumed it was mock. “You wouldn’t dare,” Justin replied, jogging down the last couple of stairs.

“Go get him, Romeo,” Zach cracked, waving at him one last time as Justin slid into the back seat of the cab. He turned and headed back to his own car, and Justin settled into the faux-leather cushions of the taxi seat.

“LAX, please,” he requested, and those simple words were enough to send the butterflies through his stomach again.

\--

Pittsburgh International Airport was the same as it ever was, Justin reflected as he shouldered his bag with a small frown. His eyes flickered automatically to the mezzanine above, scanning the moving crowd for that familiar, dark-coated shape that had been there waiting for him after every flight home for three years-

Nothing. Rather, lots of people, but the jeans-clad mothers hauling protesting kids along by the arm, and elderly couples shuffling by with matching canes weren’t what he was looking for. Of course not. Why would he be here, anyway? Justin was perfectly capable of finding himself a cab and getting downtown on his own.

“Justin.” 

A voice behind him made him turn, and his breath caught in his throat.

Brian.

He was standing a few yards away beside a pillar, toying with a pair of sunglasses, tall and lean, his bangs drifting down across the side of his face to brush his cheekbones- He’d sketched those cheekbones so many times, the line of his jaw, his lips-

Someone pushed roughly past, jarring his shoulder, and Justin realized he had stopped dead in his tracks, had been staring wordlessly at Brian. Brian, who hadn’t moved, hadn’t said anything more, was just staring back at him. At least Justin’s mouth wasn’t hanging open, he comforted himself. Hell of a first image to have after years apart.

He crossed the floor, picking up speed as he got closer, resisting the urge to break into a run. He shouldn’t have bothered; Brian met him halfway. They collided there, in the middle of the hall, Brian so close to him that he could feel the heat radiating off his body. Brian’s hand was on his cheek, gentler than he’d expected, sliding into place like it belonged there, like it had always belonged there. And then- and then nothing, just a pause, Justin’s pulse racing, their lips barely inches apart. Justin raised his head to meet Brian’s eyes, saw the hesitation there, the question.

Justin rose up on his toes and closed the space between them.

The first kiss was tentative, searching, almost unsure, their lips brushing together and then away, Justin leaning up into Brian, chasing his touch. Then Brian’s hand slid to cup his face, Brian’s fingers curled into his hair, his thumb under Justin’s jaw, tipping his face up just that little more.

The second kiss, right on the heels of the first – that one was the dam breaking, a rush of all-consuming need. It was three years in coming, in the locking of their lips, Brian’s mouth opening as Justin licked his way inside, in the step forward that Brian took that pressed hip to hip and thigh to thigh. Justin reached out and slid his arm around Brian’s waist, pulled him in more tightly again, breathed him in, the hint of spice of his cologne, his aftershave. Beneath it all there was the sense-memory of the taste of him, of Brian’s skin, the rough scrape of his stubble in the mornings, the silk that was his mouth right now. And beyond all of it, there were the angles and lines and rigid muscle tense and tight against Justin’s body, holding him in place as though he might vanish again at any moment.

Brian buried his face in Justin’s hair, and the feel of Brian’s arms around him was too much, too overwhelming, too right to put into words. Justin shivered, and it took him a second to realize that Brian was speaking, his breath warm against the curve of Justin’s ear.

“Took you long enough, you fucking twat.”

Justin smiled. Then smiled wider again. _Now_ he was home. “I missed you too, asshole.”

\--

Brian didn’t pull him into the men’s room on the concourse (the one furthest from security had a family room, with a door that went all the way down to the floor and a grab-bar meant for wheelchair users at just the right height). He didn’t cock his head with a suggestion in his eye when they passed through the empty stairwell that acted as a shortcut to the parking lot (half a flight up, there was a nook with a ledge at knee-level, at the right angle to see security coming before the rent-a-cop saw you). And he didn’t push Justin back against the car and kiss him until he was too hard to do anything, especially think.

At least the Corvette was still the same.

Maybe three years _had_ been too long. Except Justin had been sure, in the middle of that second kiss, that they’d be able to pick things up where they’d left off. The conversation on the drive back h- back to _Brian’s loft_ – was too formal, conversation about Kinnetik and ‘So, CalArts-‘ and ‘how’s Gus’ both kind-of expected and so utterly not what Justin wanted to be thinking about right now.

He had just about had it with the small talk (since when did either of them do small talk?) and was this-damn-close to ordering Brian to pull over so that he could stick his tongue down Brian’s throat and his hand down Brian’s pants, and not necessarily in that order. And that was when Brian turned and looked at him, and his lips twitched up in that perfect-fucking-smirk. And all he said was “wait.”

Son of a bitch.

Justin was painfully hard for the rest of the drive. And from the smirk on Brian’s face, he knew it, too.

\--

They made it as far as the old cargo elevator, barely. Brian yanked the grating closed and, as the elevator began to grind its way up the shaft, Justin pushed Brian back against the wall and kissed him.

“Pushy, aren’t we?” Brian murmured against his mouth, but wonder of wonders he let himself be kissed, and kissed, and kissed back again.

“Shut up.” Justin yanked the tails of Brian’s shirt out from his pants, ran his hands up underneath and splayed them out against the skin of Brian’s stomach, warm and taut over muscle and bone. The taste in the airport had barely been enough, just enough to whet his hunger, and now the whole fucking _buffet_ was in front of him and under his hands and there was no way he was waiting.

Brian’s hands were in his hair, his thumbs skated down the line of Justin’s jaw and held him in place. Brian pressed his mouth to Justin’s lips, rolled his hips up against him, the evidence of his own need hard against Justin’s stomach.

The elevator shuddered to a halt and Justin had to fight against instinct to make himself pull back, step away, grab the handles of his duffel bag as Brian opened the elevator for them. Brian was breathing as quickly as Justin was as he unlocked the door to the loft, his jacket and shirt twisted and dishevelled, his pants tented. And all Justin could think was: _Fuck. I have been_ such _an idiot._

He followed Brian inside, barely had time to drop his bag and register a handful of details – a lamp on in the corner, orange lights above Brian’s bed, the loft as sparsely elegant as ever – before Brian’s hands were on him again.

This time Justin was the one being shoved back a step, the one whose shirt was being pulled up, Brian’s hands hot on his chest, on his back, running over his skin, fisting in his hair. Brian kissed him again, a clashing of teeth and lips and tongue, and Justin fell into it, open-mouthed and hungry.

Justin’s fingers fumbled with Brian’s buttons, the onslaught of _heat_ and _need_ and _now_ making him shaky. He felt a tug at his nipple, Brian’s fingers finding the ring there, under his shirt, and Brian groaned into his mouth. “You put it back?”

“Sometimes-“ Brian tugged at it again, the metal warm from his skin. The drag and pull of it went straight to Justin’s cock, sensation piled on sensation.

Brian tugged Justin’s shirt off over his head, and Justin finally got Brian’s buttons open, dragged his shirt down off his shoulders, and fastened his lips against the bare skin in front of him. Brian tasted clean, like new sweat and heat, a taste he wanted to savour. But Brian was moving away, grabbing Justin around the waist, popping the button on Justin’s khakis with his thumb, pulling him toward the platform, and the bed.

Their pants followed their shirts, as did socks, the pair of them down to just their briefs by the time Brian pushed Justin backwards up the couple of stairs and back onto the bed. The mattress was soft beneath his back when he sprawled, the dark blue sheets familiar and silken-soft. Brian shed his briefs and followed. Justin lifted his head to stare at him, drink in the sight of him, long-limbed, sleek, and beautiful.

Brian ran his hands over Justin’s arms, his chest, down his thighs, tracing out the muscles there with open palms, skimming over Justin’s skin as though mapping out half-remembered terrain. It was tender and weirdly endearing and only lasted a second before Brian snapped out of it, grabbed a handful of Justin’s briefs and pulled them down over his hips. Justin shifted to free himself, his cock hard against his stomach, aching for contact – anything – Brian’s hands, his mouth-

Brian nudged Justin’s legs apart and knelt between them on the bed, surging forward to grab for Justin’s wrists and pin him down. He pressed his mouth against Justin’s throat, his shoulder, the hollow of his collarbone. Justin flexed his fingers, testing Brian’s hold – not too tight, just enough to make a point – and used it as leverage to rock up against Brian, grind into the hot skin of his stomach. Justin tipped back his head and gasped at the shock of the contact, rutted up against the hollow of Brian’s hip. Good, but not enough, nowhere near enough.

He grabbed his chance when Brian let go, released Justin’s wrists in order to brace himself on his elbows, leaned in to kiss him again. It would be too easy to let Brian take control, but he wanted so much more than that.

Justin got his hands between them, ignoring Brian’s short grunt of surprise, pushed and turned and flipped them over so that Brian was lying on his back, Justin straddling his hips. Brian was watching him, eyes half-lidded and lips parted, his cock flushed red and slick when Justin reached down for it. _This, yes this, all for me._ Brian arched and lifted his hips up, thrust into Justin’s hand when he stroked the gorgeous, heavy length of him.

He thrust again and hissed between his teeth when Justin shifted back, leaned down, followed the path of his fingers with his tongue. Justin stroked the flat of his tongue along the underside of Brian’s cock, closed his eyes for a moment at the salty-sour taste, so distinctly Brian, unlike anyone else in the world. Brian started to dig his fingertips into Justin’s shoulders then pulled his hands away, grabbed for the sheets instead, twisted them in his hands. Justin bent his head and ran his tongue around the head of Brian’s cock, under the ridge, along the vein. He parted his lips and sank his mouth down over the tip, drank in Brian’s gasp along with the pre-come, closed his hand around the root to stroke in time with his mouth.

He was _here_ , it was _happening_ , no fantasy anymore. Brian’s cock was in his mouth, the weight of it full on his tongue, and he swirled his tongue around the tip and sank down on him again and again. He grabbed for his own cock, aching between his legs, palmed it and tugged a couple of times with his free hand. The pleasure ricocheted through him, amplifying the hunger and the bone-deep need.

That was when Brian sank his fingers into Justin’s hair again, clenched there, lifted him up as Brian pulled away. Justin followed, let Brian pull him up to his mouth and kiss him, hard and lewd. Brian would be able to taste himself in Justin’s mouth, on his lips- _so fucking hot._ And it was Brian’s turn, then, to turn them over, lay Justin down on his back. He pressed his hands against the back Justin’s thighs and Justin lifted them, mouth open with anticipation. Brian leaned over to the bedside table, came back with a condom and a packet of lube.

Justin reached out and grabbed for the condom. Brian jerked it away, a smile blossoming on his face. Justin grabbed for it again, laughing, and when their eyes locked again, something had shifted, the weight of three years entirely gone. The smile still playing over that perfect fucking mouth, Brian let Justin steal the condom packet, watched him with greedy eyes as he tore it open. He tipped his head back with a groan as Justin cupped Brian’s balls, stroked his cock and twisted his hand just at the top, that way that made Brian twitch and groan, then unrolled the condom in a swift, smooth motion.

Brian leaned forward, dropping the opened packet of lube on the bed beside them, two of his fingers glistening with it, slick and obscene. Justin arched up into the touch, closed his eyes against the pressure around his hole, the slick heat as Brian’s fingers circled. He touched, rubbed around in a tight circle, teased forward slightly, then away again, pressed in and in and _in_ and _oh._ Justin rocked up into it, thrust down on Brian’s fingers, grabbed at his shoulders for leverage to help the slide and the stretch and hot-hard- _burn_. “Good, it’s good,” he gasped out to Brian’s questioning look, the first words spoken since they’d undressed. Brian dropped his head and flickered his tongue around Justin’s nipples even as he stroked his fingers deeper inside, fastened his teeth around the gold hoop passing through the one.

And then everything was gone, sliding out and lifting up and Justin was empty again, aching with it. He stretched his legs, propped up against Brian’s shoulders, lifted his head as much as he could to watch Brian slick his cock with lube.

His face - oh, his face, as he pressed in, and Justin lifted up into it. He was beautiful, fucking _transcendent_ , and Justin fought to keep from coming at the sight alone. Brian slipped forward and leaned over him and Justin wrapped his legs around Brian’s waist instead, locked his ankles to hold him there, so close, inside him and above him. Brian was inside him, stopped about halfway, and paused for a moment to give him time to adjust. And it was good.

Until it wasn’t enough, and Justin rocked up into him and begged him to “ _move, goddammit.”_

And everything in the world was _Brian_ and Brian was fucking him, and his body was thrumming with every thrust – slow, at first, then building up speed, Brian’s arms braced over Justin’s shoulders to hold him in place.

“Brian, please-" he heard himself repeating it into Brian's skin, the join of his neck and shoulder. He was saying other things too, felt his own lips moving, but couldn't concentrate on it, not with the long slide inside of him that stretched every nerve to breaking, the glide of Brian's cock across his prostate, so good each time and not enough, just enough to send white flashes sparking behind his eyes. Justin heard his own voice yelling, begging, _more, please, fuck me, there, more-_

And Brian was there with him, gasping and covering Justin's mouth with his own to swallow down his words, rolling his hips in again and faster now again, his fingers threaded tightly between Justin's. He was pressing down, using his weight and the strength in his arms to keep Justin steady, and he snapped his hips, Justin’s cock caught between them, once more, again, _again_. It was the waves rolling up on the beach and closing over his head, it was stroking colour onto a white canvas and a universe taking shape in his hands, it was the world turning from black and white to technicolour, saturating him with light. Justin arched, again, and then he was lost, his come hot between them. Brian’s rhythm faltered, he groaned and convulsed into Justin; he came and his shoulders shook with it and he pressed his forehead against Justin’s shoulder as he sucked in air.

Justin kept his legs locked around Brian’s waist, slid his arms up and around his chest to hold him close. He could feel Brian’s heart racing, the pulse in his throat fluttering rapidly when Justin found it with his lips. And they lay there like that for a while.

\---

Afterwards, after lying there, sweat-drenched and silent, after dealing with the condom and the lube, after washing up and throwing a new sheet across the bed, Justin turned his head just a little, bumped Brian’s shoulder gently with his nose. He got a smile in response, Brian’s hand skimming lightly over his hip. Brian shifted, rolled up on his elbow, his bangs falling down to graze his cheeks. Justin reached up and pushed them back so that he could still see Brian’s eyes, dark in the half-light of the bedroom.

Brian frowned. He toyed with Justin’s hair, stroked his thumb down the side of Justin’s face. "How long are you here?”

Justin huffed out air, grimaced at having to think about anything other than this. All he wanted was to stay in this bed, with this man. For a year, maybe two. “I haven’t booked a new flight yet,” he said, finally. “I need to be back in New York this time next week; I’ve got a show coming up.”

‘That's not long.” Brian leaned back a little, dropped his hand to Justin’s shoulder; not pulling back entirely, but his touch losing some of the incredible tenderness of the moment before.

“I know. But I’ll be back.” And that was a promise. This time – he hated even thinking it, it was so ridiculously trite. But this time, it _would_ be different.

Brian’s thoughts seemed to be heading along different lines, and he rolled back entirely, laid his hands above his head on the pillow. “When? Another three years?”

“Brian, listen to me.” Justin rolled over on to his elbows, wrapped one arm around Brian and stared him in the eyes until he was forced to meet Justin’s steady gaze. “Not three years. Two weeks,” he promised recklessly. “Three, tops. I'm not letting us screw this up again. This is where I’m supposed to be. Right here, with you.” He tightened his arm around Brian’s hips and pressed a kiss into his chest, a few inches above his navel.

It was relief that had flashed in Brian’s eyes there, Justin was sure, though it was quickly replaced with hesitation and a slight edge of wariness that made Justin want to hold him and kiss him and touch him until he could convince Brian that he meant every word. “And what brought you to this grand epiphany?” Brian asked.

Justin laughed once, and shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.” Brian’s voice was softer, a little, more curious than annoyed. Justin liked to think that the kisses he was pressing against Brian’s stomach had something to do with that, or maybe it was the way Brian’s hand had found its way into Justin’s hair again.

“I went surfing,” Justin said, his smile beginning to blossom on his face.

“You did what?” And the look on Brian’s face – equal parts disbelief and amusement – was absolutely worth all the bruises that Justin had managed to collect that day.

“It's kind of a long story.”

Brian settled back, shifted down on the bed a little until their heads were closer together. He curled onto his side, and ran his fingers lightly down Justin’s shoulder, his arm, his hip. The flash of irritation had faded from his expression entirely, his eyes more curious now, and somehow relieved. Justin moved one leg forward and slipped it between Brian’s, their thighs touching. The sheet was warm where it wrapped around their bodies, draping in soft folds over Brian’s ankle, Justin’s knee. They were cocooned there, in the loft, in that bed, in each other.

And Brian smiled. “I've got time.”

\--

_Save the last dance for me._

 


	11. Epilogue

**Epilogue:**

**  
**

[bleedle-bloop] [bleedle-bloop] [bleedle-bloop]

“Kinney.”

“... Is Justin Taylor there?”

“Who is this?”

“Um. Zach. Justin gave me this number; I was supposed to call him, to finalize plane tickets and the hotel room for November. For the show opening?”

“Ahh, the LA wunderkind. He’s mentioned you.”

“He has? Okay... so this _is_ the right number. Is Justin there?”  

“He is, but he can’t come to the phone right now. He’s too busy sucking my cock.”

[muffled] “Holy shit! Give me the phone.”

[muffled] “Come get it, then. If you can.”

[muffled] “Hey! That’s dirty pool.”

[...]

“Zach? Are you still there? It’s Justin. Sorry about that.”

“No big; who the hell was that?”

“ _That_ was Brian.”

“Wow, dude. He’s a real charmer.”

“He has his moments.”

“Now I see where you get it.”

“Fuck off, surfer boy.”

 


End file.
